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Complete in Six Volumes. 

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" EouGH AND Eeadt " is presented to the public as the 
fourth volume of the "Eagged Dick Series," aud, like two 
of its predecessors, was contributed as a serial to the 
"Schoolmate," a popular juvenile magazine. Its second title, 
"Life among the New York Newsboys," describes its char- 
acter and purpose. "While the young hero may be regarded 
as a favorable example of his class, the circumstances of his 
lot, aggravated by the persecutions of an intemperate parent, 
are unfortunately too common, as any one at all familiar 
with th'C history of the neglected street children in our 
cities will readily acknowledge. 

If " Eough and Eeady " has more virtues and fewer faults 
than most of his class, his history will at least teach the 
valuable lesson that honesty and good principles are not in- 
compatible even with the greatest social disadvantages, and 
will, it is hoped, serve as an incentive and stimulus to the 
young people who may read it. 
New Tokk, Dec. 26, 1869. 






"On the sidewalk in front of the "Times" office, 
facing Printing-House Square, stood a Iboy of fifteen, 
with a pile of morning papers under his arm. 

" ' Herald,' ' Times,' ' Tribune,' 'World' ! " he vo- 
ciferated, with a quick glance at each passer-bj^'. 

There were plenty of newsboys near by, but this 

boy was distinguished bj^ his quick, alert movements, 

and his evident capacity for business. He could tell 

by a man's looks whether he wanted a paper, and 

oftentimes a shrewd observation enabled him to 

judge which of the great morning dailies would be 

likely to suit the taste of the individual he addressed. 

"Here's the ' Tribune,' sir," he said to a tall, thin 



man, with a carpet-bag and spectacles, who had the 
appearance of a country clergyman. " Here's the 
' Tribune,' — best paper in the city." 

" I'm glad you think so, my lad. You may give 
me one. It's a good sign when a young lad like j^ou 
shows that he has already formed sound political 

" That's so," said the newsboy. 

"I suppose you've seen Horace Greeley?" 

" In course, sir, I see him most every day. He's 
a brick ! " 

"A what?" inquired the clergyman, somewhat 

" A brick ! " 

"My lad, you should not use such a term in 
speaking of one of the greatest thinkers of the 

" That's what I mean, sir ; only brick's the word 
we newsboys use." 

" It's a low word, my lad ; I hope you'll change it. 
Can you direct me to French's Hotel ? " 

" Yes, sir ; there it is, just at the corner of Frank- 
fort Street." 


" Thank you. I live in the country, and am not 
very well acquainted with New York." 

" I thought so." 

"Indeed! What made you think so?" asked the 
clergyman, with a glance of inquiry, unaware that his 
country air caused him to differ from the denizens of 
the city. 

"By your carpet-bag," said the boy, not caring to 
mention ajij other reason. 

" What's your name, my lad?" 

" Eough and Ready, sir." 

" What name did you say ?"» asked the clergyman, 
thinking he had not heard aright. 

" Rough and Ready, sir." 

" That's a singular name." 

"My right name is Rufus ; but that's what the 
boys call me." 

" Ah, yes, indeed. Well, my lad, I hope you will 
continue to cherish sound political sentiments until 
the constitution gives you the right to vote." 

"Yes, sir, thank you. ::— Have a paper, sir?" 

The clergyman moved off, and Rough and Ready 
addressed his next remr-rk to a sallow-complexioned 


man, witli a flasMng black eye, and an immense flap- 
ping wide-awake hat. 

« Paper, sir ? Here's the ' World ' ! " 

" Give me a copy. What's that, — the ' Tribune ' ? 
None of your Black Republican papers for me. 
Greeley's got nigger on the brain. Do you sell many 

" Only a few, sir.. The ' World ' 's the paper ! I 
only carry the ' Tribune ' to accommodate a few cus- 

"I wouldn't have anything to do with it." And 
the admirer of the " World" passed on. 

" Got the 'Herald'? " inquired the next man. 

" Yes, sir, here it is. Smartest paper in the city ! 
Got twice as much news as all the rest of the papers.^' 

" That's where you're right. Give me the ' Herald' 
for my money. It's the most enterprising paper in 

" Yes, sir. James Gordon Bennett's a perfect 
steam-engine ! " 

" Ever see him?" 

" Yes, sir, often. He's a brick!" 

" I believe you." 


" Paper, sir ? ' Tribune,' sir ? " 

Rough and Ready addressed this question some- 
what doubtfally to a carefully dressed and somewhat 
portly gentleman, who got out of a Fourth Avenue 
car, and crossed to the sidewalk where he was stand 

" Don't want the ' Tribune.' It's a little too ex- 
treme for me. G-ot the ' Times ' ? " 

" Yes, sir. Here it is. Best paper in the city ! " 

" I am glad you think so. It's a sound, dignified 
journal, in my opinion." 

" Yes, sir. That's what I think. Henry J. Ray- 
mond's a brick ! " 

" Ahem, my lad. You mean the right thing, no 
doubt ; but it would be better to say that he is a' 
man of statesman-like views." 

'.'That's what I mean, sir. Brick's the word we 
newsboys use." 

Just then a boy somewhat larger than Rough and 
Ready came up. He was stout, and would have been 
quite good-looking, if he had been neatly dressed, 
and his face and hands had been free from dirt« But 
Johnny Nolan, with whom sudi of my readers as 


have read " Eagged Dick " and " Fame and Fortune" 
are already acquainted, was not very much troubled 
by his deficiencies in either respect, though on the 
whole he preferred whole garments, but not enough 
to work for them. 

Johnny was walking listlessly, quite like a gentle- 
man of leisure. 

" How are you, Johnny ? " asked Rough and 
Ready. " Where's your blacking-box ? " 

" Somebody stole it," said Johnny, in an aggrieved 

" Why don't you get another? '* 

" I aint got any money." 

"I never knew you when you did have," said the 

" I aint lucky," said Johnny. 

" You won't be till you're a little smarter than you 
are now. What are you going to do? " 

" I dunno," said Johnny. " I wish Mr. Taylor 
■ was in this city." 

"What for?" 

" He used to give me money most every day," said 


" I don't want anybody to give me money," said 
Rough and Eeady, independently. " I can earn my 
own living." 

"I could get a place to tend a paper-stand, if I 
had good clo'es," said Johnny. 

"Why don't you go to work and earn enough 
money to buy some, then ? " said the newsboy. 

" I can't. I aint got no money." 

" I've sold sixty papers this morning, and made 
sixty cents," said Rough and Ready. 

" I aint made nothing," said Johnny, despondently. 

" Come, I'll tell you what I'll do," said the news- 
boy. " Here's two ' Tribunes,' two ' "Worlds' and 
' Times ' and three ' Heralds.' Just go round the cor- 
ner, and sell 'em, and I'll give you all the profits." 

"All right!" said Johnny, brightening up at the 
prospect of making something. " What's the 
news ? " 

" Steamboat exploded on the Mississippi ! Five 
hundred people thrown half a mile high in the air ! 
One man miraculously saved by falling in a mud- 
hole ! Can you remember all that ? " 

" Yes," said Johnny. " Give me the papers." 


' Johnny went round to Nassau Street, and began to 
cry tlie remarkable news which had just been commu- 
nicated to him. 

" That ought to. sell the papers," said Bough and 
Ready to himself. " Anyway, Johnny's got it exclu- 
sive. There aint any other newsboy that's got it." 

In about half an hour Johnny came back empty- 

" Sold all your papers? " asked the newsboy. 

"Yes," said Johnny ; " but was that true about the 
steamboat ? " 


" 'Cause people looked for it, and couldn't find it, 
and one man said he'd give me a lickin' if I called 
out news that wasn't true." 

" Well, if it isn't true now, it will be some other 
day. Explosions is a permanent institution. Any- 
how, it isn't any worse for us to cry news that aint 
true, than for the papers to print it when they know 
it's false." 

Whatever may be thought of the morality of Rough 
and Ready's views on this subject, it must be ad- 
mitted that in manufacturing news to make his 


papers sell, he was only imitating the example of 
some of our most prominent publishers. The same 
may be said of his readiness to adopt the political 
views and prejudices of his customers, for commer- 
cial profit. I may as well remark here, that, though 
Kough and Ready is a favorite of mine, for his energy, 
enterprise, and generous qualities, I do not mean to 
represent him as a model boy. I shall probably have 
to record some things of him which I cannot wholly 
approve. But then it is to be considered that he is 
a newsboy, whose advantages have been limited, who 
has been a familiar witness to different forms of 
wickedness ever since he was old enough to notice 
anything, and, notwithstanding, has grown up to be a 
pretty good boy, though not a model. 

In fact, one reason why I do not introduce any 
model boys into my stories is that I do not find 
them in real life. I know a good many of various 
degrees of 'goodness ; but most of them have more 
failings than one, — failings which are natural to 
boys, springing oftentimes more from thoughtless- 
ness than actual perverseness. These faults they 

must struggle with, and by determined effort they 


will be able, with God's help, to overcome them. 
They have less excuse than the friendless newsboy, 
because more care has been bestowed upon their edu- 
cation and moral training. 

" Here's eleven cents, Johnny," said the newsboj^, 
after receiving from his assistant the proceeds of his 
sales. "Isn't it better to earn them than have 
somebody give them to you ? " 

" I dunno," said Johnny, doubtfully. 

" Well, you ought to, then. I've sold fifteen more. 
That's seventy-five I've sold this morning. What 
are you going to do with your money ? " 

"I got trusted for breakfast at the Lodge this 
mornin'," said Johnny ; " but I must earn some mo¥e 
money, or I can't buy any dinner." 
• " Which do you like best, — selling papers, or 
blacking boots ? " 

" I like blackin' boots. 'Taint so hard work. 

" Why didn't you take care of your box? " 

" I laid it down in a doorway. I guess some boj' 
stole it." 

" I'll tell you what I'll do, Johnny. I'll buy you a 
new box and brush, and we'll go loliacks." 


" All right, " said Johnny. 

As the allusion may not be understood by some of 

my. young readers, I will explain that it is a custom 

among the more enterprising street boys, who are 

capitalists to a small amount, to set up their more 

needy fellows in business, on condition that they will 
pay half their earnings to the said capitalists as a 
profit on the money advanced. This is called " go- 
ing whacks." It need hardly be said that it is a 
very profitable operation to the young capitalist, 
often paying fifty per cent, daily on his loan, — a 
transaction which quite casts into the shade the most 
tempting speculations of Wall Street. 

It is noteworthy that these young Bohemians, law- 
les as they often are, have a strict code of honor in 
regard to such arrangements, and seldom fail to 
make honest returns, setting a good example in so 
far to older business operators. 

On receiving Johnny's assent to his proposal, the 
newsboy proceeded to a street stand on Nassau 
Street, and bought the necessary articles for his com- 
panion, and then the two separated. 

Johnny, confiding in his prospects of future profits, 

20 itovGH AND ready; or, 

stopped at the pie and cake stand at the north-east 
corner of Nassau and Fulton Streets, and bought of 
the enterprising old woman who has presided over it 
for a score of jeavs, a couple of little pies, which he 
ate with a good appetite. He then shouldered his 
box and went to business. 




Rough and Ready had sold out his stock of morn- 
ing papers, and would have no more to do until the 
afternoon, when the "Evening Post" and " Express " 
appeared. The " Mail," " Telegram," and " News," 
which now give employjnent to so many boys, were 
not then in existence. 

I may as well take this opportunity to describe the 
newsboy who is to be the hero of my present story. 
As already mentioned, he was fifteen years old, 
stoutly built, with a clear, fresh complexion, and a 
resolute, good-humored face. He was independent 
and self-reliant, feeling able to work his own way 
without help, and possessed a tact and spirit of en- 
terprise which augured well for his success in life. 
Though not so carefully dressed as most of the bo3^s 
who will read this story, he was far from being as 
ragged as many of his fellow-newsboys. There were 


two reasons for this: he had a feeling of pride, 
which made him take some care of his clothes, and 
besides, until within a year, he had had a mother to 
look after him. In this respect he had an advan 
tage over the homeless boys who wander about the 
streets, not knowing where they shall find shelter. 

But, within a year, circumstances had changed with 
our young hero. His mother had been left a widow 
when he was nine years old. Two years later she 
married a man, of whom she knew comparatively 
little, not from^love, but chiefly that she might secure 
a comfortable support for her two children. This 
man, Martin, was a house-carpenter, and was chiefly 
employed in Brooklyn and New York. He removed 
his new wife and the children from the little Con- 
necticut village, where they had hitherto lived, to 
New York, where he found lodgings for them. 

In the course of a few months, she found that the 
man she had so hastily married had a violent, and 
even brutal, temper, and was addicted to intemperate 
habits, which were constantly interfering with his 
prospects of steady employment. Instead of her 
care and labor being lessened, both were increased. 


The lodgings to which Martin carried his wife, at first, 
were respectable, but after a while there was a diffl- 
culty about the rent, and they were obliged to move. 
They moved frequently, each time compelled to take 
dirtier and shabbier accommodations. 

Rufus was soon taken from school, and compelled, 
as a newsboy, to do his part towards supporting the 
family. lix fact, his earnings generally amounted to 
more than his stepfather's, who only worked irreg- 
ularly. A year before the date of our story, Mrs. 
Martin died, solemnly intrusting to her sjon the charge 
of his little sister Rose, then six years old. 

" Take good care of her," said the dying mother. 
" You know what your stepfather is. Don't let him 
beat or ill-treat her. I trust her wholly to you." 

" I'll take care of her, mother," said Eufus, stur- 
dily. " Don't be afraid for her." 

" God will help you, Rufus," said the poor mother. 
" I am glad you are such a boy as I can trust." 

" I aint so good as I might be, mother," said 
Rufus, touched by the scene ; " but you can trust me 
with Rosie." 

Mrs. Martin knew that Rufus was a sturdy and 


self-relying boy, and she felt that she could ti-iist him. 
So her last moments were more peaceful than they 
would have been but for this belief. 

After her death, Eufus continued the main support 
of the household. He agreed to pay the rent, — five 
dollars monthly, — and fifty cents a day towards the 
purchase of food. This he did faithfully. He found 
himself obliged, besides, to buy clothing for his little 
sister, for his stepfather, who spent his time chiefly in 
bar-rooms, troubled himself verj^ little about the little 
girl, except to swear at her when he was irritated. 

Rough and Ready gained his name partly from its 
resemblance in sound to his right name of Rufus, but 
chiefly because it described him pretty well. Any of 
his street associates, who attempted to impose upon 
Mm, found him a rough customer. He had a pair of 
strong arms, and was ready to use them when occa- 
sion seemed to require it. But he was not quarrel- 
some. He was generous and kind to smaller boys, 
and was always willing to take their part against 
those wlio tried to take advantage of their weakness. 
There was a certain Tom Price, a big, swaggering 
street-bully, a boot-l)lack by profession, with whom 


Rough and Ready had had more than one sharp con- 
test, which terminated in his favor, though a head 
shorter than his opponent. 

To tell the truth, Rough and Read}'', in addition to 
his strength, had the advantage of a few lessons in 
boxing, which he had received from a young man who 
had been at one time an inmate of the same building 
with himself. This knowledge served him in good 

I hope my young readers will not infer that I am 
an advocate of fighting. It can hardly help being 
brutal under any circumstances ; but where it is never 
resorted to except to check ruffianism, as in the case 
of my young hero, it is less censurable. 

After setting up Johnny Nolan in business. Rough, 
and Ready crossed to the opposite side of the street, 
and walked up Centre Street. He stopped to buy a 
red-cheeked apple at one of the old women's stalls 
which he passed. 

" Rosie likes apples," he said to himself. " I sup- 
pose she's waiting to hear me come upstairs." 

He walked for about quarter of a mile, till he came 
ill siglit of the Tombs, which is situated at the north- 


west corner of Centre and Leonard Streets, fronting 
on the first. It is a grim-looking building, built of 
massive stone. Rough and Ready did not quite go 
up to it, but turned off, and went down Leonard 
Street in an easterly direction. 

Leonard Street, between Centre and Baxter Streets, 
is wretched and squalid, not as bad perhaps as some 
of the streets in the neighborhood, — for example, 
Baxter Street, — but a very undesirable residence. 

Here it was, however, that our hero and his sister 
lived. It was not his own choice, for he would have 
gladly lived in a neat, clean street ; but he could not 
afford to pay a high rent, and so was compelled to re- 
main where he was. 

He paused in front of a dilapidated brick building 
of six stories. The bricks were defaced, and the 
blinds were broken, and the whole building looked 
miserable and neglected. There was a grocery shop 
kept- in the lower part, and the remaining five stories 
were crowded with tenants, two or three families to a 
floor. The street was generally littered up with old 
wagons, in a broken-down condition, and odors fa/ 


from savory rose from the garbage that was piled up 
here and there. 

Crowds of pale, unhealthy-looking children, with 
dirty faces, generally bare-headed and bare-footed, 
played about, managing, with the happy faculty of 
childhood, to- show light-hearted gayety, even under 
the most unpromising circumstances. 

Rough and Ready, who was proud of his little 
sister, liked to have her appear more decently clad 
than most of the children in the street. Little Rose 
never appeared without a bonnet, and both shoes 
and stockings, and through envy of her more respect- 
able appearance, some of the street girls addressed 
her with mock respect, as Miss Rose. But no one 
dared to treat her otherwise than well, when her 
brother was near, as his prowess was well known 
throughout the neighborhood. 

Our hero dashed up the dark and rickety stair- 
case, two stairs at a time, ascending from story to 
stor}'^, until he stood on the fifth landing. 

A door was eagerly opened, and a little girl of 
seven called out joyfully : — 

" Is it you, Rufus?" 

28 SOUGH AND heady; or, 

At home, Rough aud Ready dropped his street 
nickname, and was known by his proper appellation . 

" Yes, Rosie. Did you get tired of waiting? " 

"I'm always tired of waiting. The mornings 
seem so long." 

" Yes, it must seem long to you. Did you go out 
and play ? '* 

" Only a few minutes." 

" Didn't you want to stay?" 

The little girl looked embarrassed. 

" I went out a little while, but the girls kept call- 
ing me Miss Rose, and I came in." 

" I'd like to hear 'em ! " said Rufus, angrily. 

" They don't do it when you are here. They don't 
dare to," said Rose, looking with pride at her 
brother, whom she looked upon as a young hero. 

" They'd better not," said the newsboy, signifi- 
cantly. " They'd wish they hadn't, that's all." 

"You see I wore my new clothes," said Rose, by 
way of explanation. " That made them think I was 
proud, and putting on airs. But they won't do it 

" Why not? " asked her brother, puzzled. 


"Because," said Eose, sadly, "I shan't wear 
them again." 

" Shan't wear them ! " repeated Eough and Eeady. 
" Are you. afraid to? " 

« I can't." 

"Why can't you?" 

'^ Because I haven't got them to wear.'* 

Eose's lip quivered as she said this, and she looked 
ready to cry. 

" I don't understand you, Eosie," said the news- 
boy, looking perplexed. " Why haven't you got 
them, I should like to know?" 

"Because father came home, and took them 
away," said the little girl. 

" Wliat!" exclaimed Eough and Eeady, quickly. 
"Took them away?" 


" What did he do that for?" said the boy, angrily. 

" He said he shouldn't let you waste your money 
in buying nice clothes for me. He said that my old 
ones were good enough." 

"When did he take them away?" said the boy, 
his heart stirred with indis-nation. 


" Only a little while ago." 

" Do you know where he took them, Eosie?" 

" He said he was going to take them to Baxter 
Street to sell. He said he wasn't going to have me 
dressed out like a princess, while he hadn't a cent of 
money in his pocket." 

Poor Rufus ! He had been more than a month 
saving up money to buy some decent clothes for his 
little sister. He had economized in every possible 
way to accomplish it, anticipating her delight when 
the new hat and dress should be given her. He 
cared more that she should appear well than himself, 
for in other eyes, besides her brother's, Rose was a 
charming little girl. She had the same clear com- 
plexion as her brother, an open brow, soft, silken 
hair hanging in natural curls, fresh, rosy cheeks in 
spite of the unhealthy tenement-house in which she 
lived, and a confiding look in her dark blue eyes, 
which proved very attractive. 

Only the day before, the newsboy had brought 
home the new clothes, and felt abundantly rewarded 
by the delight of his little sister, and the improve- 


ment in her appearance. He had never before seen 
her looking so well. 

But now — he could not think of it without indig- 
nation — his intemperate step-father had taken away 
the clothes which he had worked so hard to buy, and, 
by this time, had probably sold them for one quarter 
of their value at one of the old-clothes shops in Bax- 
ter Street. 

" It's too bad, Rosie ! " he said. " I'll go out, and 
see if I can't get them back." 

While he was speaking, an unsteady step was 
heard on the staircase. 

" He's coming ! " said Rose, with a terrified look. 

A hard and resolute look came into the boy^s face, 
as, turning towards the door, he awaited the entrance 
of his stepfather. 




Presently the door was opened, and James Mar- 
tin entered with an. unsteady step. His breath was 
redolent with the fumes of alcohol, and his face wore 
the brutish, stupid look of one who was under the 
influence of intoxication. He was rather above the 
middle height, with a frame originally strong. His 
hair and beard had a reddish tinge. However he 
might have appeared if carefully dressed, he cer- 
tainly presented an appearance far from prepossess- 
ing at the present moment. 

Rough and Ready surveyed his stepfather with a 
glance of contempt and disgust, which he did not 
attempt to conceal. Rose clung to his side with a 
terrified look. 

"What are you doing here?" demanded Martin, 
sinking heavily into a chair. 


"I'm taking care of my sister," said tlie newsboy, 
putting liis arm protectingly round Rose's neck. 

"You'd better go to work. I can take care of 
her," said tlie stepfather. 

" Nice care you take of her ! " retorted the newsboy, 

" Don't you be impudent, you young rascal," said 
Martin, with an unsteady voice. " K you are. I'll give 
you a flogging." 

" Don't talk to him, Rafie," said little Rose, who 
had reason to fear her stepfather. 

" I must, Rosie," said the newsboy, in a low voice. 

" What are you muttering there ?" demanded the 
drunkard, suspiciously. 

"Where are my sister's new clothes?" asked 
Rough and Ready. 

" I don't know about any new clothes. She aint 
got any as I knpw of." 

" She had some this morning, — some that I 
bought and paid for. What have you done with 
them ? " 

" I've sold 'em," said Martin, doggedly, his assumed 

34 BOUGH AND beadt; or, 

ignorance ceasing. " That's vvhat I've clone with 

" What did you sell them for ? " demanded the 
newsboy, persistently. 

" What business has she got with new clothes, 
when we haven't got enough to eat, I'd like to 

" If we haven't got enough to eat, it isn't my 
fault," said the boy, promptly. " I do my part 
towards supporting the family. As for you, you 
spend all your money for rum, and some of mine 

" What business is it of yours ? " said the drunk- 
ard, defiantly. 

" I want you to bring back my sister's clothes. 
What have you done with them ? " 

" You're an impudent young rascal." 

" That isn't answering my question/' 

" Do you want me to give you a flogging ? " asked 
Martin, looking angrily at our hero from his inflamed 

" Don't say any more to him, Eufus," said little 
Eose, timidly. 


" You ought to be ashamed of yourself, stealing a 
little girl's clothes, and selling them for rum," said 
the newsboy, scornfully. 

This was apparently too much for the temper of 
Martin, never very good. He rose from his chair, 
and made a movement towards the newsboy, with the 
purpose of inflicting punishment upon him for his 
bold speech. But he had drunk deeply in the morn- 
ing, and since selling little Rose's clothes, had in- 
vested part of the proceeds in additional liquor, 
which now had its effect. He stood a moment waver- 
ing, then made a step forward, but the room seemed 
to reel about, and he fell forward in the stupor of 
intoxication. He did not attempt to rise, but lay 
where he fell, breathing heavily. 

" O Rufus ! " cried Rose, clinging still more closely 
to her brother, whom she felt to be her only protector. 

" Don't be afraid, Rosie," said the newsboy. " He 
won't hurt you. He's too drunk for that." 

" But when he gets over it, he'll be so angry, he'll 
beat me." 

" I'd like to see him do it ! " said the newsboy, his flashing. 


" I'm so afraid of him, Rnfus. He wasn't quite so 
bad when mother was alive. It's awful to live with 

" You shan't live with him any longer, Rose." 

"What do you mean, Rufus?" said the little girl, 
with an inquiring glance. 

"I mean that I'm going to take you away," said 
the boy, firmly. " You shan't live any longer with 
such a brute." 

" Where can we go, Rufus?" 

"I don't know. Any place will be better than 

" But will he let me go?" asked Rose, with a timid 
look at the form stretched out at her feet. 

" I shan't ask him." 

" He will be angry." 

"Let him be. We've had enough of him. We'll 
go away and live by ourselves." 

" That will be nice," said little Rose, hopefully : 
" somewhere where he cannot find us." 

" Yes, somewhere where he cannot find us.'* 

" When shall we go? " 

"Now,' said the newsboy, promptly, " We'll go 


while he is lying there, and can't interfere with us. 
Get your bonnet, and we'll start." 

A change of residence with those who have a su- 
perfluity of this world's goods is a formidable affair. 
But the newsboy "and his sister possessed little or 
nothing besides what the}^ had on, and a very small 
bundle, done up hastily in an old paper on which 
Eough and Ready had been " stuck," that is, which 
he had left on his hands, contained everything which 
they needed to take away. 

They left the room, closing the door after them, 
and went down the rickety stairs, the little girl's 
hand being placed confidingly in that of her brother. 
At length they reached the foot of the last staircase, 
and passed through the outer door upon the side- 

" It's the last time you'll -go into that house," said 
the newsboy. " You can bid good-by to it." 

" Where are we going now, Rufus?" 

" I am going to see if I can find, and buy back, 
your new clothes, Rose. We'll walk along Baxter 
Street, and maybe we'll see them hanging up in some 

38 HOUGH AND ready; or, 

" But have you got money enough to buy them 
back, Rufus?" 

" I think I have, Eose. Wouldn't you like to have 
them again?" 

" Yes, Rufus ; but it is too much money for you to 
pay. Never mind the clothes. I can get along with- 
out them," said Rose, though it cost her a pang to 
give up the nice dress which had given her so much 
innocent pleasure. 

" No, Rose, I want you to wear them. We are go- 
ing to live respectably now, and I don't want to see 
you wearing that old calico dress." 

Little Rose was dressed in a faded calico gown, which 
had been made over, not very artistically, from a dress 
which had belonged to her mother. It had been long 
in use, and showed the effects of long wear. It had 
for some time annoyed the newsboy, who cared more 
that his sister should appear well dressed than him 
self. He knew that his sister was pretty, and he fell 
proud of her. Feeling as he did, it is no wonder thai 
his indignation was aroused by the conduct of his 
stepfather in selling his little sister's new clothes, 
which he had bought out of his scanty earnings. 


While they had been speaking, they had walked to 
the end of the block and turned into Baxter Street. 

Baxter Street is one of the most miserable streets 
in the most miserable quarter of the city. It is lined 
with old-clothing shops, gambling-dens, tumble-down 
tenements, and drinking saloons, and at all times it 
swarms with sickly and neglected children, bold and 
wretched women, and the lowest class of men. One 
building, which goes by the name of Monkey Hall, is 
said to be a boarding-house for the monkeys, which 
during the day are carried about by Italian organ- 
grinders. It was in this street where Rufus had 
reason to believe that his sister's clothes might be 

The two children walked slowly on the west side, 
looking into the old-clothes shops, as they passed. 

" Come in, boy," said a woman at the entrance of 
one of the shops. " I'll fit you out cheap." 

" Have you got any clothes that will do for this 
little girl ? " asked the newsboy. 

" For the little gal ? Yes, come in ; I'll fit her out 
like a queen." 

The shabby little shop hardly looked like a place 


where royal attire could be procured. Still it might 
be that his sister's clothes had been sold to this 
woman ; so Rough and Read}'' thought it well to enter. 

■The woman rummaged about among some female 
attire at the back part of the shojD, and brought 
forward a large-figured de laine dress, of dingy ap- 
pearance, and began to expatiate upon its beauty in 
a voluble tone. 

" That's too large," said Rough and Ready. " It's 
big enough for me." 

" Maybe you'd like it for yourself," said the 
woman, with a laugh. 

" I don't think it would suit my style of beauty," 
said the newsboy. " Haven't you got anj^thing 
smaller ? " 

" This'll do," jjersisted the woman. " All you've 
got to do is to tuck it up so ; " and she indicated the 
alteration. " I'll sew it up in a minute." 

" No, it won't do," said the newsbo}^, decidedly. 
" Come, Rose." 

They went into another shop, where a man was in 
attendance ; but here again their inquiries were 


They emei'ged from the shop, and, just beyond, 
came to a basement shop, the entrance to which was 
lined with old clothes of every style and material. 
Some had origiually been of fine cloth and well 
made, but had in course of time made their way from 
the drawing-room to this low cellar. There were 
clothes of coarser texture and vulgar cut, originally 
made for less aristocratic customers, which perhaps 
had been sold to obtain the- necessaries of life, or 
very possibly to procure supplies for the purchase of 
rum. Looking down into this under-ground shop, the 
quick eyes, of Rose caught sight of the new dress, of 
which she had been so proud, depending from a nail 
just inside. 

" There it is," she said, touching the newsboy on 
the arm. " I can see it." 

" So it is. Let's go down." 

They descended the stone steps, and found them 
selves in a dark room, about twelve feet square, hung 
round with second-hand garments. The presiding 
genius of the establishment was a little old man, 
with a dirty yellow complexion, his face seamed with 

42 Rouan an'd ready; or, 

wrinkles, but with keen, sharp eyes, who looked like 
a spider on the watch for flies. 

"What can I sell you to-day, young gentleman?" 
he asked, rubbing his hands insinuatingly. 

" What's the price of that dress ? " asked Eough 
and Eeady, coming straight to the point. 

" That elegant dress," said the old man, " cost me 
a great deal of money. It's very fine." 

"I know all about it,'-' said the newsboy, "for I 
bought it for my sister last week." 

" No, no, you are mistaken, young gentleman," 
said the old man, hastily, fearing it was about to be 
reclaimed. " I've had it in my shop a month." 

" No, you haven't," said the newsboy, bluntly ; 
"you bought it this morning of a tall man, with a 
red nose." 

" How can you say so, young gentleman?" 

"Because it's true. The man took it fi'om my 
sister, and carried it off. How much did you pay for 

" I gave two dollars and a half," said the old man, 
judging from* the newsboy's tone that it was useless 


to persist in his denial. " You may have it for three 

" That's too much. I don't believe you gave more 
than a dollar. I'll give you a dollar and a half." 

The old man tried hard to get more, but as Eough 
and Ready was firm, and, moreover, as he had only 
given fifty cents for the dress an hour before, he con- 
cluded that he should be doing pretty well in making 
two hundred per cent, profit, and let it go. 

The newsboy at once paid the money, and asked if 
his sister could put it on there. A door in the back 
part of the shop was opened, revealing an inner 
room, where Eose speedily made the change, and 
emerged into the street with her old dress rolled 
up in a bundle. 




"Where are we going, Rufus?" asked Rose, as 
they left the subterranean shop. 

" That's what I'm trying to think. Rose," said her 
brother, not a little perplexed. 

To tell the truth. Rough and Ready had acted from 
impulse, and without any well-defined plan in his 
mind. He had resolved to take Rose from her old 
home, if it deserved the name, and for reasons which 
the reader will no doubt pronounce sufficient ; but he 
had not yet had time to consider where they should 
live in future. 

This was a puzzling question. 

If the newsboy had been a capitalist, or in receipt 
of a handsome income, the question would have been 
a very simple one. He would onl}^ need to have 
bought a " Morning Herald," and, from the long list 
of boarding and lodging houses, have selected one 


wliich he judged suitable. But his income was small, 
and he had himself and his sister to provide for. He 
knew that it must be lonely for Rose to pass the 
greater part of the day without him ; yet it seemed to 
be necessary. If only there was some suitable per- 
son for her to be with. The loss of her mother was 
a great one to Rose, for it left her almost without a 
companion. • 

So Rough and Ready knit his brows in perplexing 

"I can't tell where we'd better go, Rose, yet," he 
said at last. " We'll have to look round'a little, and 
perhaps we'll come across some good place." 

" I hope it'll be some place where father won't find 
us," said Rose. 

" Don't call him father," said the newsboy, hastily. 
" He isn't our father." 

" No," said Rose, " I know that, — that is, not our 
own father." 

" Do you remember our own father. Rose ? But of 
course you don't, for you were only a year old when 
he died." 

" How old were you, Rufus?" 


" I was nine." 

" Tell me about father. Mother used to tell me 
about him sometimes." 

" He was always kind and good. I remember his 
pleasant smile whenever he came home. Once he 
was pretty well off; but he failed in business, and had 
to give up his store, and, soon after, he died, so that 
mother was left destitute. Then she married Mr. 
. "What made her?" 

" It was for our sake. Rose. She thought he 
would give us a good home. But you know how it 
turned out. Sometimes I think mother might have 
been alive now, if she hadn't married him." 

" Oh, I wish she was," said Rose, sighing. 

" Well, Rose, we won't talk any more of Mr. Mar- 
tin. He hasn't got any more to do with us. He can 
take care of himself, and we will take care of our- 

" I don't know, Rufie," said the little girl ; " I'm 
afraid he'll do us some harm." 

" Don't be afraid. Rose ; I aint afraid of him, and 
I'll take care he don't touch you." 


The little girl's apprehensions were not without 
good reason. They had not done with this man Mar- 
tin. He was yet to cause them considerable trouble. 
What that ti-ouble was will be developed in the course 
of the story. Our business now is to follow the coui-se 
of the two orphans. 

They had reached and crossed the City Hall Park, 
and now stood on the Broadway pavement, opposite 
Murray Street. 

" Are we going to cross Broadway, Eufus ? " asked 
his little sister. 

" Yes, Rose. I've been thinking you would feel 
more comfortable to be as far away from our old room 
as possible. If we can get a lodging on the west 
side of Broadway somewhere, we shan't be so apt to 
meet Mr. Martin. You'd like that better, wouldn't 

" Oh, yes, I should like that better." 

" Now we'll cross. Keep firm hold of my, hand 
Rose, or you'll get run over." 

'During the hours of daylight, except on Sunday, 
there is hardly a pause in the long line of vehicles of 
every description that make their way up and aown 


the great central thoroughfare of the city. A quick 
eye and a quick step are needed to cross in safety. 
But the practised newsboy found no difficulty. Dodg- 
ing this way and that, he led his sister safely across. 

" Let us go up Broadway, Rufas," said the little 
girl, who, living always in the eastern part of the 
city, was more used to Chatham Street and the Bow- 
ery than the more fashionable Broadway. 

" All right, Rose. "We can turn off higher up." 

So the newsboy walked up Broadway, on the west 
side, his little sister clinging to his arm. Occasion- 
ally, though they didn't know it, glances of interest 
were directed towards them. The attractive face of 
little Rose, set off by her neat attire, and the frank, 
open countenance of our young hero, whc looked 
more manly in his character of guardian to his little 
sister, made a pleasant impression upon the passers- 
by, or at least such as could spare a thought from 
the business cares which are apt to engross the mind 
to the exclusion of everything. 

"If I only had two such children ! " thought a child- 
less millionnaire, as he passed with a hurried step. 
His coffers were full of gold, but his home was 


empty of comfort and happiness. He might easily 
have secured it by diverting a trifling rill, from his 
full stream of riches, to the channel of charit}' ; but 
this never entered his mind. 

So the children walked up the street, jostled by 
hunying multitudes, little Rose gazing with childish 
interest at the shop windows, and the objects they 
presented. As for Eough and Ready, Broadway 
was no novelty to him. His busy feet had traversed 
every portion of the city, or at least the lower part, 
and he felt at home everywhere. While his sister 
was gazing at the shop windows, he was engaged in 
trying to solve the difficult question which was still 
puzzling him, — "Where should he find a home for 
his sister ? " 

The solution of the question w^s nearer than he 

As they passed a large clothing-house, the little 
girl's attention was suddenly attracted to a young 
woman, who came out of the front entrance with a 
large bundle under her arm. 

"0 Miss Manning," she cried, joyfully, "how do 
you do ? " 

50 HOUGH AND beadt; or, 

" What, little Eose ! " exclaimed the seamstress, 
a cordial smile lighting up her face, pale from con- 
finement and want of exercise. 

"How are you, Miss Manning?" said the news- 
boy, in an oflf-hand manner. 

" I am glad to see you, Rufus," said the young 
woman, shaking hands with him. " How you have 
grown ! " 

'•'Havel?" said Rough and Ready, pleased with 
what he regarded as a compliment. " I'm glad I'm 
getting up in the world that way, if I can't in any 

" Do you sell papers now, Rufus? " 

" Yes. I expect all the newspaper editors would 
fail if I didn't help 'em off with their papers." 

" You are both looking fresh and rosy.'* 

" Particularly Rose," said the newsboy, laughing. 
"But you are not looking very well, Miss Man- 

" Oh, I'm pretty well," said the seamstress ; "but I 
don't get much chance to get out into the air." 

"You work too hard." 

"I have to work hard," she replied, smiling 


faintly. " Sewing is not very well paid, and it costs 
a great deal to live. Where are you living now ? " 

" "We are not living anywliere," said Eose. 

""We are living on Broadway just at present," 
said Rough and Eeady. 

The seamstress looked from one to the other in 
surprise, not understanding what they meant. 

" Where is your father now? " she asked. 

" I have no father," said the newsboy. 

"Is Mr. Martin dead, then?" 

"No, he's alive, but he isn't my father, and I 
won't own him as such. If you want to know where 
he is, I will tell you. He is lying drunk on the floor 
of a room on Leonard Street, or at least he was half 
an hour ago." 

The newsboy spoke with some bitterness, for he 
never could think with any patience of the man who 
had embittered the last years of his mother's life, 
and had that very morning nearly deprived his little 
sister of the clothing which he had purchased for her. 

" Have you left him, then ? " asked the seamstress. 

" Yes, we have left him, and we do not mean to go 
near him ao;ain." 

52 nouGu AND ready; or, 

" Then you mean to take the whole care of your 
little sister, Rufas?" 

" Yes." 

" It is a great responsibility for a boy like you." 

"It is what I have been doing all along. Mr. 
Martin hasn't earned his share of the expenses. 
I've had to take care of us both, and him too, and 
then he didn't treat us decently. I'll tell you what 
he did this morning." 

Here he told the story of the manner in which his 
little sister had been robbed of her dress. 

" You don't think I'd stand that, Miss Manning, 
do you ? " he said, lifting his eyes to hers. 

" No, Rufus ; it seemed hard treatment. So j^ou're 
going to find a home somewhere else ? " 

" Yes." 

" Where do you expect to go? " 

" Well, that is what puzzles me," said the news- 
boy. " I want some place in the west part of the 
city, so as to be out of Martin's way. Where do 
you live ? " 

" In Franklin Street, not far from the river." 

"Is it a good place?" 


" As good as I can expect. You know that I am 
poor as well as you." 

" Is there any chance for us in the house ? " asked 
Rufus, with a sudden idea touching the solution of 
the problem that had troubled him. 

" No, there is no room vacant, I believe," said the 
seamstress, thoughtfully. " If there were only Rose, 
now," she added, " I could take her into the room 
with me.'* 

" That's just the thing," said Rufus, joyfully. 
"Rose, wouldn't you like to be with Miss Manning? 
Then you would have company every day." 

" Yes," said Rose, " I should like it ever so much ; 
but where would you be ? " she asked, doubtfully. 

" I'll go to the Newsboys' Lodging House to sleep, 
but I'll come every afternoon and evening to see you. 
I'll give Miss Manning so much a week for your 
share of the expenses, and then I'll feel easy about 
you. But wouldn't she be a trouble to you, Miss 
Manning ? " 

" A trouble,*' repeated the seamstress. " You 
don't know how much I shall enjoy her company. I 
get so lonely sometimes. If you'll come with me 

54 HOUGH AND beadt; or, 

now, I'll show you my room, and Rose shall find a 
home at once." 

Much relieved in mind. Rough and Ready, with his 
sister still clinging to his arm, followed the seam- 
stress down Franklin Street towards her home near 
the river. 




Miss Manning paused before a house, not indeed 
very stylish, but considerably more attractive than 
the tenement house in Leonard Street. 

" This is where I live," she said. 

" Is it a tenement house?" asked the newsboy. 

"No, there's a woman keeps it, — a Mrs. Nelson. 
Some of the rooms are occupied by boarders, but 
others only by lodgers. I can't afford to pay the 
board she asks ; so I only hire a room, and board my- 

While she was speaking, the two children were 
following her upstairs. 

The entries were dark, and the stairs uncarpeted, 
but neither Rough and Ready nor his sister had been 
used to anything better, and were far from criticising 
what might have been disagreeable to those more 

56 ROUGH AND jieadt; Oli, 

Miss Manning kept on till she reached the fourth 
story. Here she paused before a door, and, taking a 
key from her pocliet, opened it. 

" This is -where I live," she said. " Come in, both 
of you." 

The room occupied by the seamstress was about 
twelve feet square. Though humble enough in its 
appearance, it was exquisitely neat. In the centre 
of the floor was a strip of carpeting about eight feet 
square, leaving, of course, a margin of bare floor on 
all sides. 

""Why, you've got a carpet, Miss Manning ! " said 
Bose, with pleasure. 

" Yes," said the seamstress, complacently ; " I 
bought it at an auction store one da}^, for only a 
dollar and a half, I couldn't well spare the monej^ ; 
but it seemed so nice to have a carpet, that I yielded 
to the temptation, and bought it." 

" It seems more respectable to have a carpet," 
said the newsboy. 

" It's more comfortable," said Miss Manning, " and 
it seems as if the room was warmer, although it 
doesn't cover the whole floor." 


" What a nice little stove ! " said Rose, admiringly. 
" Can you cook by it? " 

She pointed to a small square stove, at one end of 
the apartment. 

" Oh, yes, I can boil eggs, and do almost anything. 
I bought it at a junk-shop for only two dollars. I 
don't have a fire all the time, because I can't afibi'd 
it. But it is pleasant, even when I am feeling cold, 
to think that I can have a fire when I want to." 

In the corner of the room was a bedstead. There 
was also a very plain, and somewhat battered, bureau, 
and a small glass of seven inches by nine hanging 
over it. On a small table were placed half-a-dozen 
books, including the Bible, which years ago Miss 
Manning had brought from her country home, the gift 
of a mother, now many years dead. The poor seam- 
stress never let a day pass without reading a chapter 
in the good book, and, among all her trials and priva- 
tions, of which she had many, she had never failed to 
derive comfort and good cheer from it. 

" How nice your room looks. Miss Manning ! " said 
Eose, admiringly. 

"Yes, it's jolly," said the newsboy. 


" I try to make it as comfortable as I can ; but my 
means are small, and I cannot do all I wish." 

" And are you willing to let Rose come and live 
with you ? " 

" I shall be very glad to have her. She will be so 
much company for me." 

"You'd like to come, Rosie, wouldn't you?" 

" Ever so much," said the little girl ; " that is, if 
I can see you every day." 

" Of course you will. Fll come up to . see how 
you're gettin' along." 

"Then it's all settled," said the seamstress, cheer- 
fully. " Take off your bonnet, Rose, and I'll tell 
you where to put it." 

" It isn't all settled yet," said Rough and Ready. 
" I must find out about how much it's going to cost 
for Rose, and then I can pay you so much every 
week. How much rent do you pay for this room ? " 

" It costs me a dollar a week." 

" Maybe they'll charge more if there are two 
in it." - 

" I think not much. I could go and ask Mrs. 


" I wish you would." 

The seamstress went downstairs, and saw the 
landlady. She returned with the intelligence that 
Mrs. Nelson would be willing to have her receive 
Rose on the payment of twenty-five cents additional. 

" That will make a dollar and a quarter for the 
two," said the newsboy. "Then I'll pay sixtj^-two 
cents a week for Eose's share." 

"No," said the seamstress, — "only twenty-five 
cents. That is all that is charged extra for her." 

"Eose must pay her half of the expenses," said 
the newsboy, decidedly. "That'll be sixty-two cents 
a week for the rent." 

" But you've got yourself to provide for, as well 
as your little sister," said the seamstress. 

" I can do it," said Eough and Eeady, confidently. 
" Don't you worry about that." 

" But it seems as if I was making rnoney out of 

"No more'n she is making money out of you. 
It's the same for both, as far as I -can see," said the 
newsboy. "Now, how much does it cost you for 
eatin' a week?" 


" About a dollar and a quarter," said the seam- 
stress, after a little thought. 

"That's a very little. What can you get for that ? " 

" There's a small loaf of bread every day. I get 
that at the baker's round the corner. I don't often 
get butter, but I keep a little on hand, so that when 
my appetite is poor I can use it. When eggs are 
cheap, I boil one for my breakfast." 

" Don't you ever eat meat? " 

" Sometimes I buy half a pound of steak at the 
market. That lasts me two days. It strengthens 
me up wonderfully." 

" Half a pound of meat in two days ! " repeated 
Rough and Ready, wonderingly. "I guess you 
don't know what it is to have a newsboy's appetite." 

" No," said the seamstress, smiling. " I never 
was a newsboy that I remember." 

" Rufle can sell papers as fast as anything," said 
Rose, who had a high appreciation of her brother's 
merits. " I stood by him one morning when he was 
selling. He knew just what paper everybody 
wanted, and made them buy, whether they wanted to 
or not." 


" Oh, I'm a rouser at selling papers, " said the 
newsboy. " I can sell more in a mornin' than any 
boy on the street." 

" You look like a smart boy." ^ 

"Do I? I wish other people thought so; but I 
tried for a place once, and the man looked at me as if 
he thought I'd start off early some mornin' with his 
cash-box, and declined engagin' me. Maybe he 
thought I looked too smart." 

" Rufle wouldn't steal for anything ! " said Eose, 
with indignant emphasis. 

" I don't know about that. I've stolen you this 
mornin'. I expect Mr. Martin will open his eyes 
wider'n usual when he finds you are gone. I'll tell 
you what I'll do. Miss Manning," he continued, 
turning to the seamstress. " As near as I can make 
out, Rose will cost about three dollars a week." 

" That's too much. Sixty-two cents and a dollar 
and a quarter make not quite two dollars." 

"I know that, but you will want to live a little 
better than you have done. You must have meat 
oftener, and will want fire all the time when it's cold. 

62 itoiJGH AND meady; or. 

Then it won't do you any hurt to have a good cup of 
tea every night." 

"But three dollars seem a good deal for you to 
pay," expostulated Miss Manning. 

"Don't trouble yourself about that. I can work 
more cheerful, if I know that Rose is comfortable. 
Maybe, if I'll buy her a book, you'll teach her a little 
every daj^" 

"I will, and with great pleasure." 

" Then I'll bring the book along to-night." 

" Oh, there's one thing more," said Rougn and 
Ready, suddenly. " Don't you want to take another 

" Another boarder?" 

" Yes, I'd like to come round, and take jijtipper 
with you every night. Breakfast I'll get &'; the 
Lodgin' House, and dinner at a restaurant, ''jut it 
would be pleasant to come round, and eat «apper 
with you and Rose." 

" It would be pleasant for us also," said Miss 

" I guess that'll cost you a dollar a week mere* so 
I'll pay you four dollars a week." 


"I don't like to have you pay^so much. I feel as 
if I were making money out of you." 

" I'll take care you don't. You don't know what 
an appetite I've got. I'll come round at six every 
evening, or before ; only six can be the hour for 

" Very well, Rufus, but you must promise me one 

"What is it?" 

^' That if you find it is too hard on you to pay so 
much money, you will let me know." 

" All right. So it's all settled? '* 


" Good ! " said the newsboy, with an air of satis- 
faction. " Now I must be goin' to business. I don't 
know exactly what time it is, as I left my gold 
■watch lyin' on the sofy in Leonard Street." 

" Oh, what a story, Rufie ! " said Rose. " He hasn't 
got any gold watch, Miss Manning, and we didn't 
have any sofy in Leonard Street." 

" That's the way she's always exposin' me, Miss 
Manning," said the newsbo}^, laughing. 

" Well, Rosy, good-by. It's time for the evenin' 

64: Rouan and ready; or, 

papers to be out, and I must be on hand, as the other 

He kissed his little sister, and hurried downstairs. 
As he was making his way towards the offices of the 
evening papers, he felt great satisfaction in thinking 
of his unexpected good fortune in finding so desira- 
ble a home for his little sister. Hitherto he had felt 
a great deal of anxiety about her, during his ne- 
cessary absence during the day, knowing only too 
well the character of his stepfather. He had known 
that there was danger of little Rose being abused in 
bis frequent fits of intoxication, and more than once 
his heart was filled with apprehension, as he ascended 
the stairs to the cold and cheerless room in Leonard 
Street, which he had been forced to call home for the 
lack of a better. 

But now there was a great change for the better. 
He knew that Miss Manning would be kind to little 
Rose, and would take good care of her, as well as 
provide her with pleasant company, while he was on 
the street selling papers. It was pleasant, to him also 
to reflect that the arrangement would be an advan- 
tageous one for the seamstress. He had noticed her 


pale cheek, and he felt sure that it proceeded, not 
only from steady and confining work, but also from 
a lack of nourishing food. She would now be able 
to live better and more comfortable, and without ex- 
ceeding the sum which she had hitherto been accus- 
tomed to expend. In the first place, she would have 
to pay thirty-eight cents less weekly for rent, and 
though this may seem a very small sum to the boys 
and girls who may read my story, it represented to 
the poor seamstress the proceeds of an entire day's 
work, beginning at early morning, and extending for 
fourteen hours. So, while Eough and Ready thought 
principally of his sister, it pleased him to feel that 
in benefiting her he was also benefiting the one who 
had. agreed to take charge of her. 

Then, as to himself, although he would pass his 
nights at the Lodging House, and eat breakfast there, 
once a day he would be at the little room in Franklin 
Street, and this wouM make him feel that he had 
some share in his sister's home. 

He made his way to the offices of the evening 
papers, obtained a supply, and was soon busily en- 
gaged in disposing of them. "While he is thus en- 


gaged, we must go back to Leonard Street, which 
the newsboy and his sister have left, as they hope, 



martin's awakening. 

James Martin lay in a drunken stupor for about 
an hou'r after Rough and Ready and his sister left 
the room. Then he roused a little, and muttered 
" Rose." 

But there was no answer. 

" Rose," he repeated, not stirring from nis recum- 
bent position, " have you got anything to eat in the 
house ? " 

But the little girl whom he addressed was already 
in her new home on Franklin Street. 

" "Why don't jon answer?" demanded he, angrily. 
" I'll give you a licking." 

As this threat also elicited no response, he turned 
over and rose slowly. 

" The gal isn't here," he said, after looking about 
him. " She's gone out with her scamp of a brother. 


He's an obstinate young rascal. I'll give him • a 
flogging some time." 

iQ^artin had often had the disposition to inflict pun- 
ishment upon our hero, but there was a sturdy 
■ courage and flrmness about Eough and Eeady that 
promised a determined opposition. So he had es- 
caped where a weaker and more timid boy would have 
suffered bad treatment. 

Though Martin missed Rose he had no idea yet 
that she had left him for good, as the saying is. 
He supposed that she had gone out to stand by her 
brother when he was selling papers. He had often 
been drunk before, and probably expected to be 
often again. He felt no particular shame at disposing 
of the little girl's clothes for rum. He had somehow 
formed the idea that it was the newsboy's duty to 
support the family, and felt that he had no business 
to spend so much money on his sister's dress. He 
could not understand, therefore, why Eough and 
Eeady should be so angry. 

" Dressing up Eose like a princess ! " he muttered. 
"We're too poor to spend money on good clothes. 
I have to go about in rags, and why shouldn't she? " 


Martin wore a suit which had done long and hard 
service. He wore a jaclcet of green cloth, frayed and 
dirty, while his other garments, originally black, were 
stained and patched. He wore no collar or necktie. 
On his head was a tall hat, which had already reached 
that outward condition when it is usually considered 
fit only to supply the place of a broken pane. 

Such was the stepfather of the newsboy and his 
sister, and when to the description I add inflamed 
eyes, a red face, and swollen nose, I think my young 
readers will hardly wonder -that the children had long 
lost all respect and attachment for him, if indeed they 
had ever felt any. When I think of the comfortable 
home he might have had, for he was a skilful work- 
man and capable of earning good wages, I feel out of 
patience with him for preferring to lead a life so de- 
graded and useless, doing harm both to himself and 
to others. But, in a great city like New York, there 
are many men who lead lives no better than James 
Martin, who, for the brief pleasure of the intoxicating 
cup, throw away their own happiness and welfare, 
and spoil the happiness of others. Think of this 


picture, boy-reader, and resolve thus early that such a 
description shall never apply to you ! 

Feeling hungry, Martin looked into the cupboard, 
and discovered part of a loaf of bread. He was dis- 
appointed to find no cold meat, as he had hoped. 

" This is pretty poor living," he muttered. " That 
boy must pay me more money. He don't work hard 
enough. How can he expect three people to live on 
fifty cents a day?" 

It did not seem to occur to Martin that he ought to 
have contributed something himself to the support of 
the family. So, while he was eating the bread, he con- 
tinued to rail against our hero, and resolved to exact 
from him in future sixt}'' cents daily. 

" He can pay it, — a smart boy like him," he mut- 
tered. "He's lazy, that's what's the matter. He's 
got to turn over a new leaf." 

Having eaten up the bread, and feeling still hun- 
gry, he explored the contents of his pocket-book. It 
contained twenty-five cents, being half of the money 
he had received from the old-clothes dealer for the 
little girl's dress. 

" That'll bu}^ me a drink and a plate of meat," he 


thought ; " only there won't Tbe any left. Money 
don't go far in these days." 

But persons who get money as this was got, are not 
very apt to be disturbed much by economical 
thoughts. " Easy come, easy go," is an old adage 
and a true one. So Martin, reflecting that the news- 
boy was out earning money, of which he would receive 
the benefit, saw nothing to prevent his using the bal- 
ance of the money to gratify the cravings of appe- 

He accordingly went to a neighboring saloon, 
where he soon invested his mone}^, and then, thrust- 
ing his hands in his empty pockets, strolled listlessly 
about the streets. Passing through the City Hall 
Square, he saw Eough and Ready, at a little distance, 
selling his papers. 

" Rose isn't with him," said Martin to himself. 
"Maybe she's gone home." 

However, this was a point in which he felt very lit- 
tle interest. There was no particular object in ad- 
dressing the newsboy on the subject, so he wandered 
on in a listless ^2iy wherever caprice led. 

Strolling down Broadway, he turned into Dey 


Street, though he had no definite object in so doing. 
All at once he felt a touch upon his shoulder. 

" Well, Martin, how goes it? " said a stout, active- 
looking man, of much more respectable appearance 
than Martin himself. 

" Hard luck ! " said Martin. 

"Well, you don't look very prosperous, that's a 
fact. Where are you at work now ? " 

" Nowhere." 

" Can't you find work ? " 

"No," said Martin. 

The fact was that he had not tried, preferring to 
live on the earnings of his stepson. 

" That's strange," said the new-comer. " Carpen- 
ters are in demand. There's a good deal of building 
going on in Brooklyn just now. I'll give you employ- 
ment myself, if you'll come over to-morrow morning. 
I'm putting up three houses on Fourth Avenue, and 
want to hurry them through as soon as possible, as 
they are already let, and the parties want to move in. 
Come,- what do you say ? " 

" I didn't think of going to work just yet," said 


Martin, reluctantly. " The fact is, I don't feel quite 

" Perhaps there's a reason for that," said the other, 

" I don't feel well, and that's all about it." 

" Perhaps you drink a little too often." 

" I don't drink enough to hurt me. It's all that 
keeps me up." 

" Well, that's j^our, affair, not mine. ^Only, if you 
make up your mind to go to work, come over to-mor- 
row morning to Brooklyn, and PU have something 
for you to do." 

To this Martin assented, and the builder, for such 
was his business, passed on. Martin had very little 
thought of accepting the proposal ; but, as we shall 
see, circumstances soon brought it to his mind, and 
changed his determination. 

It is not necessary to follow Martin in his after- 
noon wanderings. He took no more drink, for the 
simple reason that he was out of money, and his 
credit was not good ; so when evening came he was 
comparatively free from the influence of his earlier 
potations. About six o'clock he went back to the 

74 nouGS AND beadt; or^ 

room in Leonard Street. It was about that time that 
Rough and Eeady usually went home to eat his sup- 
per, and, as he was still hungry, he proposed to eat 
supper with the children. 

But when he opened the door of the room, he was 
surprised to find it empty. He expected to find 
Rose there, at all events, even if her brother had not 
yet returned home. 

" Rose," he cried out, " where are you?" 

There was no answer. 

"If you're hiding anywhere, you'd better come 
out, or I'll give you something you don't like." 

" This is strange," he said ta himself when again 
there was no reply. • 

He went across the landing, and knocked at the 
door opposite. 

A stout woman, with her sleeves rolled up, opened 
the door. 

" Have you seen anything of my two children, 
Mrs. Flanagan ? " asked Martin. 

" I saw them this morning.'* 

" I mean since morning." 

" No ; the boy took the little girl out about the 


middle of the day, and I haven't seen either one of 
'em since." 

" They didn't say anything to you about going out, 
did they?" 

" Shure they didn't, and why should they? They 
go out every day, for that matter." 

" Well, it's time for them to be home now." 

" They'll be comin' soon, it's likely ; " and Mrs. 
Flanagan closed her door, and went back to washing, 
— for this was her business. 

Martin returned to the lonely room, not altogether 
satisfied with what he had learned. It was, as he 
knew, quite unusual for Rose to be gone out all the 
afternoon, or, at any rate, not to be back at this 
hour. Besides, as he called to mind, she was not 
with Eough and Ready when he saw him in the after- 
noon. "Where, then, could she be? 

It was from no particular afiection for Rose that 
Martin put to himself these queries. But it was 
through Rose that he retained his hold upon Rufus 
and his earnings. Besides, Rose, though only seven 
years old, had been accustomed to get the supper, 
and make tea at times when Martin had not money 

76 nouGH AND ready; oe, 

enough to buy any beverage more stimulating. So, 
on the whole, he felt rather uncomfortable, and re- 
solved to go out and find the newsboy, and learn 
from him where Rose was. He descended the stairs, 
therefore, and made his way to the sidewalk in front 
of the " Times " office, where Rough and Ready was 
usually to be found. But here he looked for him in 
vain. The fact was that our hero had sold off his 
papers, and a large number of them, with greater 
rapidity than usual, and was at this very moment sit- 
ting at Miss Manning's little table with Rose, eating 
a comfortable, though not very extravagant, supper. 

Martin went back to Leonard Street, therefore, 
still with a vague hope that he might find the chil- 
dren at home. But he was destined to be disap- 
pointed. The room was as dark and cheerless and 
lonely as ever. 

" "What does it all mean? " thought Martin. "Has 
the young rascal given me the slip ? " 

He had been in the room only five minutes, when 
there was a knock at the door. 

It proved to be the landlord's agent, who collected 
the rent. 


" Your month's rent is due, Mr. Martin," he said. 

" I haven't got any money." 

" That answer won't do," said the man, shortly. 

"You'll have to come again to-morrow, at any 
rate. My boy's got the money for the rent, and he 
isn't in now." 

" You must he ready to-morrow, or move out." 

" I guess it'll be move then, if the boy doesn't 
come back," muttered Martin. " One good thing, 
he can't escape me. I can catch him to-morrow 
morning when he's selling papers. Eent or no rent, 
I'll get one more night's rest in this room." 

Although it was yet early he lay down, and did 
not rise till the morning light entered the room. 
Then, feeling the cravings of appetite, he got up, and 
went out in search of the newsboy. 

" He won't find it quite so easy to get rid of me as 
he thinks for," muttered Martin, with a scowl. 




Rough and Ready passed the night at the Lodging 
Bouse, as he had previously determined. The bed 
which he obtained there was considerably better than 
the one he had usually rested upon in the room in 
Leonard Street. He slept soundly, and only awoke 
when the summons came to all the bo3^s to get up. 
As our hero lifted up his head, and saw the rows of 
beds, with boys sitting up and rubbing their eyes, 
the thought of his freedom from the sway of his step- 
father recurred to his mind, and he jumped up in 
very good spirits. He breakfasted at the Lodge, 
paying only six cents for the meal, and then hastened 
to the oflSces of the morning papers to secure a sup- 
ply of merchandise. 

He began to estimate his probable weekly ex- 
penses. He had agreed to pay Miss Manning four 
dollars a week for Rose's board and his owii supper. 


His expenses at the Lodging House would be 
seventy-two cents a week. His dinner would per- 
haps amount to a dollar more. This would be five 
dollars and seventy-two cents, which he must earn at 
any rate. But, besides this, both Rose and himself 
would need clothes. Probably these would cost an- 
nually fifty dollars apiece, averaging, for the two, two 
dollars per week. Thus his entire expenses footed 
up seven dollars and seventy-two cents, or about one 
dollar and twenty-nine cents per working day. 

" That is considerable," thought the newsboy. " I 
wonder if I can do it." 

Some boys might have been frightened at this es- 
timate. But Rough and Ready had good courage. 
He felt that his sister and he could not live comfort- 
ably for less, and he resolved that if he could not 
make it all by selling papers, he would get a chance 
to do errands, or manage in some other way to eke 
out the necessary amount. But he resolved to make 
his newspaper trade pay as much of it as possible. 
He went to work, therefore, with a good deal of 
energy, and the pile of morning papers, with which 
he started, melted away fast. At last he had but one 


left. Looking out for a purchaser for that, he saw 
advancing towards him an old woman, dressed in 
quaint, old-fashioned costume. 

" Won't you let me look at that paper of youm? " 
asked the old lady. 

" Certainly, ma'am," said Rough and Ready ; " it's 
made to be looked at." 

" Wait a minute. I dunno as I've got my specs," 
said she, diving her hand into a pocket of great 
depth, and bringing up first a snuff-box, and next a 
red cotton handkerchief. 

" There, I know'd I'd mislaid 'em," she said, in a 
tone of disappointment. " Can you read, boy? " 

" More or less," said Rough and Ready. "What 
is it you wanted ? " 

" Why, you see I live to Danbury when I'm at 
home, and I heerd tell that Roxanna Jane Pinkham 
was married, and I want to know ef it's true. May- 
be you'll find it in the marriages." 

" All right, ma'am," said Rough and Ready, glan- 
cing over the paper till he came to the list of mar- 

" Is this it, ma'am?" asked the newsboy, reading, 



"In Danbury, Miss Roxanna Jane Pinkham to 
Pompey Smith, a very respectable colored man from 
New York." 

" Massy sakes ! " ejaculated the old lady. " Has 
Roxanna married a nigger? Well, she must have 
been put to't for a husband. Thank you, boy. Pd 
buy your paper, but I only wanted to know for cer- 
tain if Roxanna was married. That does beat me, 
— her marryin' a colored person ! " 

"That's a profitable customer," thought the news- 
boy. " I guess she won't find that marriage in any 
of the other papers. This one has got it exclusive." 

Immediately upon her return, the old lady spread 
the news of Roxanna Pinkham's strange marriage, 
and wrote comments upon it to her daughter in Dan- 
bury. When the report was indignantly denied by 
the lady most interested, and she threatened to sue 
the old lady for circulating a slanderous report, the 
latter stoutly asserted that she heard it read from a 
New York paper, and she had no doubt there was 
something in it, or it wouldn't have got into print. 

This trick was hardly justifiable in the newsboy ; 

but he was often troubled by people who wanted to 


look at his papers, but were not willing to- buy them, 
and he repaid himself by some imaginary news of a 
startling description. 

After disposing of his last paper, he procured a 
fresh supply, and was engaged in selling these, when, 
on looking up, he saw advancing towards him James 
Martin, his stepfather. 

Before chronicling the incidents of the interview 
between them, we must go back to the time of Mar- 
tin's awaking in the room in Leonard Street. 

He remembered, at once, the visit of the landlord's 
agent the day previous, and felt that the time for 
action had arrived. He knew that the scanty furni- 
ture in the room was liable to seizure for rent, and 
this he resolved the landlord should not get hold of. 
Accordingly, dressing hastily, he went round to Bax- 
ter Street, and accosted the proprietor of a general 
second-hand establishment, with whom he had pre- 
viously had some dealings. 

" I've got some furniture to sell," he said. " Do 
you want to buy ? " 

" I don't know," said the other. " Trade is very 
dull. I don't rfell a dollar's worth in a day." 


" Come, you shall have them cheap," said Martin. 

" "What have you got? " 

" Come and see." 

"Where is it?" 

" In Leonard Street, just round the corner." 

The dealer, always ready for a bargain, was in- 
duced to climb up to the attic room, and take a look 
at the 'cheap wooden bedstead, with its scanty bed- 
ding, and the two chairs, which were about all the 
furniture the room contained. 

" It's not worth much," he said. 

" "Well, I suppose it's worth something," said Mar- 
tin. '. 

" What'll you take for it ? " 

" Three dollars." 

" I'll give you one dollar." 

" That's too bad. You ought to give me two 
dollars, at any rate." 

At length, after considerable chaffering, the dealer 
agreed to give a dollar and a quarter, which Martin 
pocketed with satisfaction. 

Just as he had effected the sale, the landlord's 
agent appeared. 

84 HOUGH AND reavt; or, 

"Have you got your rent ready?" he asked of 

" No, I haven't," said Martin. 

" Then you must move out." 

" I'm just moving." 

" But I shall seize the furniture," said the agent. 
" I can't allow you to move that." 

" Take it, if you want to," said Martin, in a coarse 
laugh. " I've just sold it to this man here." 

" I don't believe it," said the agent, angrily. 

" Oh, well, it's nothing to me. Settle it between 
you," said Martin, carelessly, going downstairs, leav» 
ing the dealer and the agent to an animated and 
angry dispute over the broken-down bedstead. 

" That was neatly done," thought Martin, laugh- 
ing to himself. " I don't care which gets it. I sup- 
pose they'll have a fight about it. Now I must have 
a good breakfast, and then for a talk with that young 
rebel. He thinks he's cheated me cleverly, but I'm 
not through with him yet." 

Martin strayed into a restaurant at the lower end 
of Chatham Street, where he made a satisfactory 
breakfast, with as little regard to expense as if his 


resources were ample. Indeed, he felt little trouble 
about tlie future, being fully determined that in the 
future, as in the past, Rufus should support him. 

" Aint I entitled to his earnings, I'd like to know, 
till he comes of age ? " thought Martin. 

So he convinced himself readily that law and right 
were on his side, and it was with no misgivings as to 
the result that he approached the newsboy whom, 
from some distance away, he saw actively engaged in 
plying his business. 

" ' Herald,' ' Tribune,' ' Times,' ' World' ! " cried 
Rough and Ready, looking about him for possible 

" So I've found you at last," said James Martin, 
grimly addressing the newsboy.. 

" I haven't been lost that I know of," said Rough 
and Ready, coolly. 

" "Where were you last night? " 

" At the Newsboys' Lodge." 

" What made you leave home?'* 

" I didn't like staying there." 

" You're a mighty independent young man,. How 
old do you pretend to be ? " 


" Fifteen, as near as I can remember," said the 

" I didn't know but you were twenty-one, as you 
claim to be your own master," sneered Martin. 

" I don't see why I shouldn't be my own master," 
said Rough and Ready, " as long as I have to support 

" Aint I your father?" 

" No, you aint," said the newsboy, bitterly. " You 
married my mother, and killed her with your ill-treat- 
ment. I don't want to have anything more to do 
with you." 

"Oh, you're mighty smart. What have you done 
with your sister ? " 

" She's safe," said the newsboy, shortly. 

" What business had you to take her away from 
her home?" demanded Martin, angrily. 

" I've got the care of her." 

" She's my child, and you must bring her back 

" Your child ! " said Rufus, contemptuously. 
" You did not give a cent towards supporting her. 
What little you earned you spent for rum. I had to 


pay all the expenses, and when I bought my sister 
some new clothes, you were mean enough to carry 
them off and sell them. If it hadn't been for that, I 
would have left her a little while longer. But that 
was more than I could stand, and I've carried her 
where you won't find her." 

" Tell me, instantly, where you have carried her," 
said James Martin, stung by the newsboy's re- 
proaches, and doggedly resolved to get the little 
girl back, at all hazards. 

"I don't mean to tell you," said Eough and 

"Why not?" 

"Because she is in a good place, where she will 
be taken care of, and I don't mean that you shall get 
hold of her again." 

"You'd better take care what you say," said 
Martin, his red nose growing redder still, in his 
angry excitement. 

"I'm not afraid of j^our threats," said the news- 
boy, quietly. 

" I've a great mind to give you a flogging on the 

88 jROUGn AND ready; or, 

" I wouldn't advise you to try it, unless you want 
me to call a copp." 

James Martin had no great love for the police, 
with whom he had before now got into difficulty. 
Besides, he knew that Rufus, though not as strong as 
himself, was strong enough to make a very trou- 
blesome resistance to any violence, and that the 
disturbance would inevitably attract the attention of 
the police. So he forbore to attack him, though he 
found it hard to resist the impulse. But he shook 
his fist menacingly at Rufus, and said, " Some day 
I'll get hold of your sister, you may be sure of that, 
and when I do, I'll put her where you'll never set 
eyes on her again. Just remember that ! " 

He went off muttering, leaving Rufus a little 
troubled. He knew that his stepfather had an ugly 
spirit, and he feared that he would keep on the watch 
for Rose, and some day might get hold of her. The 
very thought was enough to make him tremble. He 
determined to warn Miss Manning of the danger 
which- threatened his little sister, and request her 
to be very careful of her, keeping her continually un- 
der her eye. 




At the close of the afternoon the newsboy, count- 
ing up his gains, found that he had made a dollar 
and a half by selling papers, and twentj^-five cents 
besides, by an errand which he had done for a shop- 
keeper whose boy was sick. If he could keep up this 
rate of wages every day, he would be able to get 
along very well. But, in the first place, it was not 
often that he made as much as a dollar and a half by 
selling papers, nor was there a chance to do errands 
every day. When it was rainy his sales of papers 
fell off, as there were not so many people about. 
Eufus began to feel like a family man, with the re- 
sponsibility of supporting a family on his hands. 

He was determined that his little sister should not 
be obliged to go out into the street to earn anything, 
though there are many girls, no older than she, who 

90 HOUGH AND ready; or, 

are sent out with matches, or papers, or perhaps to 
beg. But Rufus was too proud to permit that. 

" A stout boy like me ought to earn money enough 
to take care of two persons," he said to himself. 

About half-past five he started for Franklin Street ; 
for it will be remembered that he had arranged to 
take supper with his sister and Miss Manning. 

Eose had been listening for his step, and as soon 
as she heard it on the stairs, she ran out on the land 
ing, and called out, joyfully, " Is that you, Rufie ? " 

" Yes, Rosie," said the newsboy. " What have you 
been doing to-day ? " 

" I've had such a nice time, Rufie," said the little 
girl, clinging to her brother's arm. " Miss Man- 
ning began to teach me my letters to-day." 

" How does she get along, Miss Manning? " asked 
Rough and Ready, who by this time had entered the 

"Famously," said Miss Manning. "She's very 
quick. I think she'll be able to read in three 
months, if slie keeps on doing as well as to-day." 

" That's good," said the newsboy, with ^atisfac- 


tion. " I've always been afraid that she would grow 
up ignorant, and I shouldn't like that." 

"I'm no great scholar," said Miss Manning, mod 
estly ; "but I shall be glad to teach Rose all I can." 

" I am afraid it will be a good deal of trouble for 

" No, it is very little. Rose sits beside me, learn- 
ing, while I am sewing." 

"But you have to leave off to hear her." 

" Leaving off now and then rests me. Besides, as 
you pay part of my rent, I do not need to work so 
steadily as I used to do."' 

" I've a great mind to ask you to teach me a little, 
too. Miss Manning," said the newsboy. 

" I'll do it with pleasure, as far as I am capable. 
How much do you know ? " 

" Precious little," said Rufus. " I can read some ; 
but when I get out of easy reading I can't do much." 

" Can you write ? " 

" A little, but not much." 

" I will help you all I can." * 

" Then I'll bring a writing book to-morrow even- 
ing, and a book to read out of." 


Eough and Ready, though not as ignorant as many 
in his situation in life, had long deplored his ig- 
norance, and wished that he knew more. But 
he had been obliged to work early and late, 
and his stepfather was not one to give him assist- 
ance, or take any interest in his improvement. So 
he had grown up ignorant, though possessed of excel- 
lent abilities, because he saw no way of obtaining 
the knowledge he desired. Now, however, he 
thought, with Miss Manning's help, he might enter 
upon a career of improvement. 

"Have you seen father yet, Rufle?" asked Rose, 

" I saw Mr. Martin this morning," said the news- 
boy, emphasizing the name, for he would not recog- 
nize Viwy relationship between them. 

" I mean Mr. Martin," said Rose. " What did he 
say ? " 

" He wanted to know where you were." 

"Did he?" asked Rose, looking frightened. 

" Don't be afraid, Rosie," said her brother, putting 
Ms arm round his little sister's neck. " He doesn't 
know, and I shan't let him find out." 


"But if he should find out," said Rose, in terror. 
" You won't let him carry me off." 

" No, I won't. Don't be frightened. Do you like 
this better than Leonard Street, Eosie ? " 

" Oh, ever so much." 

Eufus looked pleased. He felt that he had made 
the best arrangement in his power for his sister's 
comfort and happiness, and that he had been very 
lucky to find so suitable a person as Miss Manning 
to place her with. ^ 

While he was talking with Eose, the seamstress 
had been moving about quietly, and by this time the 
little table was neatly spread in the centre of the 
room. On it were placed knives, forks, and plates 
for three. The teakettle had boiled, and, taking out 
her little teapot, the seamstress put it on the stove 
for the tea to steep. 

" Do you like toast, Eufus ? " she asked. 

" Yes, Miss Manning ; but I don't want you to take 
too much trouble." ' 

" It's very little trouble. I think Eose would like 
toast too. I've got a little meat too." 


She took from the cupboard about half a pouucl of 
steak, which she put on the coals to broil. 

" I'm afraid you're giving us too good a supper," 
said the newsboy. " Beefsteak costs considerable. I 
don't want you to lose money by Rose and me." 

" There is no danger of that," said Miss Manning. 
"It doesn't cost as much as you think for. The 
steak only cost me twelve cents." 

"But there's the tea and the toast," suggested 
Rough and Re^dy. 

"Toast costs no more than bread, and six cents 
pays for all the bread we eat at night. Then I only 
need a spoonful or two of tea, and that, and the 
sugar and butter altogether, don't cost more than 
eighteen cents." 

" Do you mean that we can live like this for thirty 
cents a meal?" asked the newsboy, incredulously. 
" Why, I have about as much as that to paj'' for my 
dinner at the eating-house, and the meat isn't as 
good as this, I am sure." 

"Yes, they charge considerable for the cooking 
and the profits," said Miss Manning. "I do the 
cooking myself, and save all that." 


By this time dinner, as we may call it, was ready, 
and the three sat down to the table. 

It was, to be sure, an humble meal ; but it looked 
very attractive and inviting for all that, with the 
steak on a plate in the centre, the well-browned 
toast on one side, and the little plate of butter on the 
other, while the little teapot steamed" with its fra- 
grant beverage. It was so different from the way in 
which they had lived in Leonard Street, that it 
seemed very pleasant to the two children. 

" Isn't it nice, Rufie ? " said Rose. 

" Yes," said the newsboy. "It's what I call reg- 
'larly jolly. Besides, it cost so little money, I can't 
get over that. I'm sure we're much obliged to Miss 

" But," said the seamstress, "you must remember 
that if it's better for you, it's better and pleasanter 
for me too. You mustn't think I used to live like 
this before Rose came to me. I couldn't afford to. 
Sometimes I had a little tea, but not often, and it 
was very seldom that I ate any meat. The rent came 
hard for me to pay, and I had to work so steadily 


that I didn't feel as if I could afford time to cook any- 
thing, even if I had the money to buy it with." 

" What did you have for supper, Miss Manning? " 
inquired Rose. 

" Generally I didn't get anything but dry bread, 
without butter or tea." 

" But I should think you would have felt hungry 
for something else." 

" I didn't have much appetite. I sat so steadily 
at my work, without a chance to breathe the fresh 
air, that I cared very little about eating. My appe- 
tite is beginning to come now." 

" I think you and Rose had better take a walk 
every day," said Rufus. "You both need to breathe 
the fresh air. That is, if you think you can spare 
the time." 

" Oh, yes, I can spare the time, now that I get paid 
so well for my boarder," said the seamstress, play- 
fully. "An hour or two of my time is worth very 
little. How much do you think I earn when I sit 
over my work all day, — about fourteen hours ? " 

" I don't know," said Rufus. " I think you ought 
to earn as much as a dollar." 


Miss Manning shook her head, with a smile. 

" I see you know very little about the wages paid 
to us poor seamstresses," she said. " If I were paid 
a dollar for my day's work I should feel as if I were 
worth a fortune." 

" But you earn near that," said the newsboy, 
"don't you?" 

" When I work steadil}', I earn about three shil- 
lings," said Miss Manning. 

I must here remind my New England reader, who 
is accustomed to consider a shilling about seventeen 
cents, that in New York eight shillings are reckoned 
to the dollar, and a shilling, therefore, only repre- 
sents twelve and a half cents ; Miss Manning's day's 
work thus brought her thirt3^-seven and a half cents. 

" Three shillings ! " repeated Rough and Ready, in 
surprise. " That's very poor pay. I think I do very 
poorly if I don't make as much as a dollar. Won't 
they pay you any more ? " 

"No, they find plenty who are ready to take their 
work at the price they are willing to pay. If any- 
body complains, thej^ take away their work and em- 
ploy somebody else." 

98 BOUGH AND headt; or, 

" How much do you think I made to day?" asked 
the newsboy. 

" A dollar and a quarter? " 

"I made a dollar and seventy-five cents," said 
Rough and Ready, with satisfaction. 

" Rufie's real smart," said Rose, who was proud 
of her brother, in whom she felt implicit confidence. 

" You mustn't believe all she says. Miss Man- 
ning," said the newsboy, laughing. " Rose thinks 
more of me than anybody else does. But what were 
we talking about? Oh, about going out for a walk 
every day. If you think you can spare the time to 
go out with Rose, I think it will do you both good." 

" We can come round and see you sell papers some- 
times, Rufie," said his little sister. 

" No," said the newsboy, hastily, " I don't want 
you to do that." 

" Why not? " said Rose, surprised. 

" Because Mr. Martin is on the lookout for Rose, 
and will very likely be prowling round somewhere 
near me, ready to pounce on Rose if he happens to 
see her. So I'd rather you'd keep on the west side 
with her. Miss Manning. If you go on Broadway, 


let it be somewhere above Chamber Street, where 
you won't be seen from the Park. In that way Mar- 
tin won't be likely to meet you." 

"It is best to be prudent, no doubt," said Miss 
Manning. " I will remember your wishes." 

The next evening, Rufus began to study, under the 
guidance and direction of Miss Manning. He gener- 
ally left the room aboflt nine o'clock, and made his 
way to the Newsboys' Lodge, where he now passed 
his nights regularly. 



MR. martin's pecuniary TROUBLES. 

James Martin, after his unsatisfactory interview 
with Eough and Ready, fouftd it necessary to make 
some plans for the future. He had been forced to 
leave the rooms in Leonard Street ; he had no longer 
the newsboy's earnings to depend upon, and, disa- 
greeable as it was to work for his own living, there 
really seemed no other way open to him. On the 
whole, as he had no home and no money, he was not 
particular about resuming the care of Rose at once. 

He was willing that her brother should retain the 
charge of her at present at his own expense, but none 
the less was he angry with Rough and Ready for de- 
fying his authority. 

" I'll get hold of the girl yet, in spite of him," he 
said to himself. " He'll -find out what I am before I 
get through with him." 

In the mean time, he thought of the work which had 


been offared him in Brooklyn, and resolved, as a 
matter of necessity, to go over and see if he could 
not effect an engagement. The new houses he 
remembered were on Fourth Avenue, in Brooklyn 
He did not know exactly where, but presumed he 
could find out. . 

He crossed Fulton Ferry, luckily having two cents 
about him. Fourth Avenue is situated in that part of 
Brooklyn which is known as G-owanus, and is at 
least two miles from the ferry. The fare by the 
horse-cars was six cents, but James Martin had only 
three left after paying his ferriage. He could not 
make up his mind to walk, however, and got into the 
Greenwood cars, resolved to trust his luck. The 
cars started, and presently the conductor came 

Martin put his hand into his pocket unconcernedly, 
and, starting in apparent surprise, felt in the other. 

" Some rascal must have picked my pocket," he 
said. "My pocket-book is gone." 

" How much money did you have in it?" asked his 
next neighbor. 

"Forty-five dollars and twenty-five cents," said 


Martin, with unTblusliing falsehood. " It's pretty 
hard on a poor man." 

The conductor looked rather incredulous, observing 
his passenger's red nose, and that his breath was 
mingled with fumes of whiskey. 

"I'm sorry for you if you've lost your pocket- 
book," he said ; " but can't you raise six cents? " 

Martin again thrust his hand into his pocket, and 
drew out three cents. 

" That's all I've got left," he said. " You'll have 
to take me for half price." 

" Contrary to orders," said the conductor. 
", Couldn't do it." 

" What am I to do then ? " 

" If you can't pay your fare, you'll have to "get 
off the cars." 

" It seems to me you're rather hard," said a pas- 

" I have to obey orders," said the conductor. " I 
don't make the regulations myself." 

"If you will allow me," said a lady opposite, "I 
will pay your fare, sir." 

" Thank you, ma'am," said Martin, " I'll accept 


your kind offer, though I wouldn't need to be be- 
holden to anybody, if it hadn't been for my loss. 
It's pretty hard on a poor man," he added, com- 

" Will you accept a trifle towards making up your 
loss ? " said an old gentleman, who had more benevo- 
lence than penetration. 

" Thank you, sir," said James Martin, accepting 
the two-dollar bill which was tendered him, without 
feeling the least delicacy in so doing. 

" You're very kind. I wouldn't take it if I hadn't 
been so unfortunate." 

" You're quite welcome," said the old gentleman, 
kindly. " You'd better report your loss to the 

" So I shall, as soon as I return to-night." 

James Martin looked round among the other pas- 
sengers, hoping that some one else might be induced 
to follow the example of the charitable old gentle- 
man. But he was disappointed. There was some- 
thing about his appearance, which was not exactly 
engaging or attractive, and his red nose inspired sus- 
picions that his habits were not quite what they 


ought to have been. In fact, there was more than 
one passenger who had serious doubts as to the 
reality of his loss. 

When the cars reached the entrance of Fourth 
Avenue, Martin descended, and walked up the street. 

" Well, ' he said, chuckling, as he drew out the bill 
from his pocket, '^I'm in luck. I'd like to meet 
plenty as soft-headed as that old chap that gave it to 
me. He swallowed down my story, as if it was gos- 
pel. I'll try it again some time when I'm hard up." 

Martin began to consider whether, having so large 
a sum on hand, he had not better give up the idea of 
working till the next day ; but the desire to find him- 
self in a position in which he could regain Eose pre- 
vailed over his sluggishness, and he decided to keep 

He had not far to walk. He soon came in siglit of 
a row of wooden houses which were being erected, 
and, looking about him, he saw the man he had 
met in the streets of New York only a day or two 

" Hallo, Martin ! " he called out, seeing the new 
arrival ; "have you come over to help us?" 


"Do you need any help?" asked Martin. 

" Badly. One of my men is sick, and I am short- 

" What do you give? " 

" Two dollars a day." 

"Wages are higher now, but this was before the 
war. • f 

" Come, what do you say? " 

" Well, I might as well," said Martin. 

" Then I'll tell you what I would like to have you 
begin on." 

The directions were given, and James Martin set 
to work. He was in reality an excellent workman, 
and the only thing which had reduced him to his 
present low fortune was the intemperate habits 
which had for years been growing upon him. Mr. 
Blake, the contractor, himself a master carpenter, 
understood this, and was willing to engage him, be- 
cause he knew that his work would be done well as 
long as he was in a fit condition to work. 

Martin kept at work till six o'clock, when all the 
workmen knocked ofi" work. He alone had no board- 
ing-place to go to. 

106 nouGH AND ready; or, 

"Where do you board, Tarbox?"lie asked of a 
fellow-workman. - 

" In Eighth Street," he answered. 

" Is it a good place? " 

" Fair." 

" Who keeps the house ? " 

" Mrs. Waters." 

" What do you pay?" 

" Four dollars a week." 

This again was lower than the price which mechan- 
ics have to pay now. 

" Is there room for another? " 

" Yes, the old ladyll be glad to get another. Will 
you come ? " 

« Well, I'll try it." 

So James Martin walked home with Tarbox, and was 
introduced to Mrs. Waters, — a widow who looked 
as if it required hard work and anxious thought to 
keep her head above water. Of course she was glad 
to get another boarder, and her necessities were such' 
that she could not afford to be particular, or possibly 
Mr. Martin's appearance might have been an objec- 


" I suppose," she said, " you won't have any objec- 
tion to go in with Mr. Tarbox." 

" No," said Martin, " not at present ; but I may be 
bringing my little girl over here before long. Do 
you think you can find room for her?" 

" She might sleep with my little girl," said Mrs. 
Waters ; " that is, if you don't object. How old is 

" She is seven." 

" And my Fanny is eight. They'd be company for 
each other." 

" My little girl is in New York, at present," said 
Mr. Martin, "stopping with — with a relative. I 
shall leave her there for a while." 

"You can bring her anytime, Mr. Martin," said 
Mrs. Waters. " If you will excuse me now, I will 
go and see about the supper." 

In ten minutes the bell rang, and the boarders 
went down to the basement to eat their supper. 

Considering Mrs. Waters' rate of board, which has 
already been mentioned, it will hardly be expected 
that her boarding establishment was a very stylish 
one. Indeed, style would hardly have been appreci- 

108 itouGH AND ready; or, 

ated by the class of boarders which patronized her. 
A table, covered with a partially dirty cloth, stood in 
the centre of the room. On this were laid out plates 
and crockery of common sort, and a good supply of 
plain food, including cold meat. Mrs. Waters found 
that her boarders were more particular about quan- 
tity than quality, and the hearty appetite which they 
brought with them after a day's work in the open air 
caused them to make serious inroads even upon the 
most bountiful meal which she could spread before 

James Martin surveyed the prospect with satisfac- 
tion. He had lived in a slip-shod manner for some 
months, and the table set by Mrs. "Waters, humble as 
it was, seemed particularly attractive. On the whole, 
he could not help feeling that it was better than 
Leonard Street. Indeed, he felt in particularly good 
spirits. He had two dollars in his pocket, and had 
worked three quarters of a day, thus earning a dol- 
lar and a half, though he would not be paid for his 
labor till the end of the week. The thought did 
come to him once, that after all he was well rid of 
Rose, as s^he would be an expense to him, and this 


expense the newsboy had voluntarily assumed. Now 
he had only himself to take care of. Why should he 
not give up the thought of reclaiming her ? " 

But then, on the other hand, Eough and Ready's 
independent course had offended him, and he felt a 
desire to " come up" with him. He knew that noth- 
ing would strike the newsboy a severer blow than to 
deprive him of his sister, and leave him in uncer- 
tainty as to her fate. Revenge he felt would be 
sweet, and he fully determined that he would have 



" Let him look out for himself! " said James Mar- 
tin. " I'll plague him yet. He'll be sorry for his 
cursed impudence, or my name isn't James Martin." 

After supper Martin strolled out, and was not long 
m finding a liquor-shop. Here he supplied himself 
with a vile draught, that had the effect of making his 
red nose yet redder when he appeared at the break- 
fast-table the next morning. However, he didn't 
drink to excess, and was able to resume work the fol- 
lowing day. 

We must now leave him, awhile, and turn to little 
Rose and her brother. 




It has been already stated that Rough and Ready 
had made a careful estimate of his expenses, and 
found that to meet them, including clothing, he must 
average seven dollars and seventy-two cents weekly. 
He might get along on less, but he was ambitious of 
maintaining himself and his sister in comfort. 

This was a considerable sum for a newsboy to 
earn, and most boys in our hero's* position would 
have felt discouraged. But Rough and Ready had 
an uncommon degree of energy and persistence, and 
he resolutely determined that in some way the 
weekly sum should be obtained. In some honest 
way, of course, for our hero, though not free from 
faults, was strictly honest, and had never knowingly 
appropriated a cent that did not justly belong to 
him. But he was not averse to any method by which 
he might earn an honest penny. 


During the first fortnight after Eose came under 
the charge of Miss Manning, the newsboy earned fif- 
teen dollars. His expenses during that time, includ- 
ing the amount paid for his sister, amounted to ten 
dollars and a half. This left four dollars and a half 
clear. This sum Eufus put into a savings-bank, 
knowing that after a time it would be necessary to 
purchase clothing both for himself and his sister, and 
for this purpose a reserve fund would be required. 

One day, after selling his supply of moi'ning 
papers, he wandered down to the Battery. This, as 
some of my readers may need to be informed, is a 
small park situated at ttie extreme point of Manhat- 
tan Island. It was on a delightful promenade, cov- 
ered with grass, and shaded by lofty sycamore-trees. 
Around it formerly lived some of the oldest and 
most aristocratic families in the city. But its 
ancient glory, its verdure and beauty, have departed, 
and it is now unsightly and neglected. None of its 
old attractions remain, except the fine view which it 
afibrds of the bay, the islands, and fortifications, and 
the opposite shores of New Jersey. The old families 
have moved far up-town, and the neighborhood is 


given to sailors' boarding-houses, wareliouses, and 
fourth-rate hotels and bar-rooms. 

The newsboy ptrayed into one of these bar-rooms, 
not with any idea of drinking, for he never had been 
tempted to drink. The example of his stepfather 
had been sufficient to disgust him with intemperance. 
But it was an idle impulse th-at led him to enter. 
He sat down in a chair, and took up a copy of the 
" Morning Herald," of which he had sold a considera- 
ble number of copies, without having had a chance 
to read it. 

Chancing to cast his eyes on the floor, he saw a 
pocket-book. He stooped down and picked it up, 
and slipped it into his pocket. Pie looked about 
him to see if there was any one present that was 
likely to have lost it. But, besides the bar-keeper, 
there was ^o one in the room except a rough-looking 
laborer in his shirt-sleeves, and it was evident that it 
did not belong to him, as he drew from his vest- 
pocket the money with which he paid for his pota- 

The newsboy concluded that the pocket-book be- 
longed to some patron of the bar, who had dropped 


it, and gone away without missing it. The question 
came up, what should he do with it ? Was it his 
duty to hand it to the bar-keeper ? 

He decided that it was not. Bar-keepers are apt 
to have easy consciences, and this one was not a very 
attractive representative of his class. He would un- 
doubtedly pocket the wallet and its contents, and the 
true owner, if he should ever turn up, would stand 
very little chance of recovering his money. 

These reflections quickly passed through the mind 
of our hero, and he decided to retain the pocket-book, 
and consult some one, in whom he reposed confidence, 
as to the proper course to pursue. He had no idea 
how much the wallet contained, and did not venture 
to examine it while he remained where he was. He 
decided to ask Mr. O'Connor, the superintendent of 
the Lodging House, what he had better do under the 

" I will remain here awhile," thought Eough and 
Eeady. " Maybe "the owner of the wallet will miss 
it, and come back for it. If he does, and I am sure it 
is his, I will give it up. But I won't give it to the 
bar-keeper ; I don't like his looks." 


So Rufus remained in his seat reading the " Herald." 
He had never read the paper so faithfully before. 
"While he was still reading, a sailor staggered in. 
He had evidently been drinking before, and showed 
the effects of it. 

" A glass of rum," he said, in a thick voice. 

" All right, sir," said the bar-keeper, obsequiously. 

" I'm bound to have a jolly time," said the sailor. 
" I've just come back from a voyage, and I mean to 
make the money fly while I have it." 

So saying, he drew out half-a-dozen bank-bills, 
rolled up tightly together. 

"That's the talk," said the bar-keeper, complai- 
santly. " Nothing like being jolly." 

"I say, you drink with me," said the sailor. *'I 
don't want to drink alone." 

" Certainly, thank you ; " and the bar-keeper poured 
out a glass for himself. 

"Isn't there anybody that would like a drink?" 
said the sailor. 

He looked around him, and his glance fell on Rough 
and Ready. 

" "Won't that boy drink?" he asked. 


" You had better ask him." 

"I say, won't you have a drink?" said the sailor, 
turning to the newsboy. 

" No, I thank you," said the newsboy. 

" Are you too proud to drink with a rough fellow 
like me ? " 

" No," said our hero ; " but I never drink. I don't 
like it." 

" Well, my lad, I don't know but you're right," said 
the sailor, more soberly. " My mother asked me not 
to drink ; but I couldn't hold out. Don't do it, if you 
don't like it." 

The bar-keeper hy this time thought fit to interfere. 

" Look here, boy," he said, angrily, " we don't want 
any temperance lectures here. You've stayed as long 
as you're wanted. You needn't come in here hurt- 
ing our trade." 

Eough and Eeady did not think it necessary to an- 
swer this tirade, but laid down the paper and went 
out, carrying the pocket-book with him, of course. 
He did not open it, even after he got into the street, 
for the action would be noticed, and it might excite 
suspicion if he were seen counting over a roll of bills, 


which he judged from the feeling the wallet con- 

It was now time to lay in his supply of afternoon 
papers, and he therefore turned his steps to the offi- 
ces, and was soon busily engaged in disposing of 
them. Indeed, so busily was he occupied, that he 
quite forgot he had the wallet in his possession. 
The papers sold readily, and it was not till he was 
ready to go to supper with Miss Manning and Rose 
that the thought of his discovery returned to him. 

" I will wait and open the pocket-book when I get 
to the room," he said to himself. 

"Well, Rose," he said, gayly, on entering the 
room, " what do you think I've found?" 

" I wish it was a kitten," said Rose. 

" No, it isn't that," said Rufus, laughing, " and I 
don't think I should take the trouble to pick it up, if 
I did find one." 

"Do you like kittens, Rose?" asked Miss Man- 

" Yes, very much," said Rose ; " they are so pretty 
and playful." 

" Would you like to have me get one for you?" 


*' Will you?" asked the child, eagerly. 

" Yes ; there's a lodger on the lower floor has three. 
No doubt she will give us one." 

"But won't it trouble you, Miss Manning ? " asked 
the newsboy. " If it will, don't get it. Eose can get 
along without it." 

" Oh, Hike kittens myself," said Miss Manning ; " I 
should really like one." 

" Now I like dogs best," said Rough and Ready. 

" Most boys do, I believe," said the seamstress. 

" But kittens are much prettier, Rufie," said Rose. 

" They'll scratch, and dogs won't," said the news- 
boy ; " but if you like a kitten, and Miss Manning is 
kind enough to get you one, I shall be glad to have 
her do so. But you seem to have forgotten all about 
my discovery." 

"What is it, Rufie?" 

Rough and Ready drew the pocket-book from his 
pocket, and displayed it. 

"Where did you find it, Rufus?" asked Miss 

"Is there much money in it, Rufie?" asked his 


" I don't know yet, I'll look and see, and after- 
,wards I'll tell where I found it." 

He opened the wallet, and drew out a roll of bills. 
Spreading them open, he began to count. To his 
surprise they proved to be bills of a large denomina- 
tion. There was one one-hundred-dollar bill, five 
twenties, six tens, and eight fives. He raised his 
eyes in surprise. 

" Why, here are three hundred dollars," he said. 

" Three hundred dollars ! " exclaimed Rose, clap- 
ping her hands. " Why Rufie, how rich you are ! " 

"But it isn't my money, Rose," he said. "You 
must remember that. I may find the owner." 

"Oh, I hope you won't," said the little girl, looking 

" But it isn't right to wish that, Rose," said Miss 
Manning. " Suppose you had lost the money, you 
would like to have it returned to you, would you 

" I suppose I should," said Rose ; " but three hun- 
dred dollars would do us a great deal of good. You 
and Rufie wouldn't have to work so hard." 

" As for me, hard work won't hurt me," said the 


newsboy, " I rather enjoy it, now that I don't have 
to give my wages to Mr. Martin to buy rum with." 

" Have you seen him lately?" 

" Not since the time I mentioned. But now I will 
tell you where I found this money." 

Hereupon the newsboy gave the account which is 
already known to -the reader. It will, of course, be 
unnecessary to repeat it here. When he had finished 
speaking, Miss Manning asked, " Well, Rufus, what 
do you intend to do about the money ? " . 

" I am going to ask Mr. O'Connor's advice about 
it to-night," said our hero. " Whatever he says I 
ought to do, I will do." 

" Perhaps you won't find any owner, Eufie." 

"We won't count our eggs before they are 
hatched," said Eufus, " and speaking of eggs, when 
are you going to give us some more for supper, Miss 
Manning ? Those we had Monday were bully." 

" We'll have them often, if you like them, Rufus," 
said the seamstress. 

In five minutes they sat down to supper, in which, 
as usual, Rufus did full justice. 




About eight o'clock Rough and Ready bade good- 
night to Miss Manning and his sister, and went 
round to the Newsboys' Lodge to sleep. 

On entering the room he went up to the superin- 
tendent, and said, " Mr. O'Connor, I want to ask 
your advice about something." 

" Very well, Rufus, I will give you the best advice 
in my power. Now what is it ? " 

Hereupon the newsboy told the story of his finding 
the pocket-book. 

" Didn't you see any one to whom you think it was 
likely to belong ? " 

"No, sir." 

" How long did you remain after you found it? " 

" I waited about half an hour, thinking that the 
loser might come back for it ; but no one came." 

" Why did you not give it to the bar-keeper?" 


" Because I knew it did not belong to him, and I 
judged from his loolis that, if he once got hold of it, 
the true owner would never see it again, even if he 
came back for it." 

" I have no doubt you are right. I only asked to 
learn your own idea about it. Now, what do you 
think of doing ? " 

" Wouldn't it be a good plan to advertise it in the 

"Yes, I think it might. Besides, there is the 
chance of its loss being advertised there, so that we 
can examine the advertisements of articles lost." 

" Yes, sir ; will you write an advertisement? " 

" If you wish me to do so." 

The superintendent took pen and paper, and drew 
up the following advertisement : — 

" POUND. — A pocket-book, containing a considerable 
sum of money. The owner can have the same by calling on 
the Superintendent of the Newsboys' Lodging House, prov- 
ing property, and paying the expense of this advertisement." 

" How will that do ? " he inquired. 

122 ROVGH AND jieadt; or, 

" It's just the thing," said Rough and Ready. 
*' How many times shall I put it in ? " 

" Three times will answer, I think. I will give 
you enough of the money to pay for the advertise- 
ment, and 3'OU can carry it round to-night." 

This was done. The charge was found to be foui 
dollars and eighty cents, as the " Herald " charges 
forty cents per line, and the three insertions made 
twelve lines. 

" I have no doubt," said Mr. O'Connor, " I shall 
have some applications from adventurers, who will 
pretend that they have lost a pocket-book ; but I will 
take care that it shall be surrendered only to the real 

The superintendent was right in this matter. 
Early the next morning, a flashily attired individual 
mounted the long flights of stairs, and inquired for 

"What is your business, sir?" inquired Mr. 

"I called about that pocket-book which you adver- 
tise in the ' Herald.' " 

" Have you lost one ? " 


" Yes, and I have no doubt that is the one. How 
much did you pay for advertising? I don't mind 
giving you a trifle extra for your trouble," 

" Wait a moment. Where did you lose your pock- 

" Eeally I can't say. I was at a good many places 
down town." 

" Then you couldn't give any idea as to where you 
lost it?" 

"I think I must have dropped it somewhere in 
Nassau Street or Fulton Street. Where was it found ? " 

"I do not intend giving information, but to re- 
quire it. It is important that I should not give it to 
the wrong party." 

"Do you doubt that the pocket-book is mine?" 
said the other, in an offended tone. 

" I know nothing about it. If it is yours you can 
describe the pocket-book, and tell me how much 
money there is in it." 

"Well," said the flashy individual, hesitating, "it 
wasn't a very large pocket-book." 




" And liow much money was there in it?" 

" Reallj'', I couldn't tell exactly." 
- "But you can give me some idea?" 

" There was somewhere from fifty to seventy-five 
dollars," said the adventurer, hazarding a guess. 

" Then it doesn't belong to you," said the super- 

"There might have "been a little more. Now I 
think of it, there must have been over eighty dol- 

" You are wasting your time, sir ; you will have to 
look elsewhere for yourpocket-book." 

The man went off, muttering that he had no doubt 
it was his ; but he saw clearly that he had failed. 
However, he was not yet at the end of his resources. 
At the corner of Broadway and Fulton Streets he was 
greeted by another young man of similar appearance. 

"Well, Jack, what luck?" 

" I came away as poor as I went." 

" Then you couldn't hit the description?" 

" No, he was too many for me," 

" Anyway, you found out something. Give me a 
fev? bints, and I'll trj^ my luck." 


" He asked me if the pocket-book was brown, and 
I said yes. That's wrong. You'd better say it's 
black, or some other color." 

" All riajht. I'll remember. "What else did he ask 



" Where I lost it." 

" What did you say ? " 

" In Nassau or Fulton Street, I couldn't say which." 

" Was that wrong ? " 

" I don't know, he didn't say." 

"What next?" 

" He asked how much money there was. I said 
from fifty to seventy-five dollars, though I afterwards 
said there might be over eighty." 

" That's too wide a margin. I think I'll say a hun- 
dred and fifty, more or less." 

" That might do." 

" As soon as I've smoked out my cigar, I'll go up." 

" Good luck to you. Bob. Mind we are to divide 
if you get it." 

" You shall have a third." 

" No, half." 

" I'll see about it ; but I haven't got it yet." 

126 '^ROvGn AND jreadt; or, 

In a few moments the superintendent received a 
second applicant. 

" Grood-morning, sir," said the individual named 
"Bob." " You've found a pocket-book, I think." 

" Yes." 

" I'm glad of it. I lost mine yesterday, with a 
pretty stifflsh sum of money in it. I suppose one .of 
your newsboys picked it up." 

"Did you lose it in this street?" 

" Yes, I expect so. I was coming from the Ful- 
ton Ferry in a great hurry, and there was a big hole 
in my pocket, that I didn't know of. I had just got 
the money for a horse that I sold to a man over 

" Will you describe the pocket-book? What color 
was it?" 

" Black, that is to say, not perhaps exactly black, 
but it might be called black," said Bob, getting over 
this question as well as he could. 

"Very well. Now for the amount of money in the 

" A hundred and fifty dollars, more or less," said 
Bob, boldly. 


"In three bills of fifty dollars each?" asked the 
superintend eut. 

" Yes, precisely," said Bob, eagerly. " That was 
what was paid for the horse I sold." 

" Then I regret to say that the pocket-book in my 
possession cannot be yours. When I find one answer- 
ing your description as to color and contents, I will 
hold it at your disposal." 

" Sold ! " muttered Bob to himself, as he slunk 
downstairs without another word. 

He rejoined his confederate, who was waiting for 
him at the corner, and informed him in expressive 
language that it was " no go." 

" P'r'aps, if we'd consulted a medium, we might 
have found out all about the color and amount," sug- 
gested Jack. 

" Don't you believe it," said Bob. " If the mediums 
could tell that, they'd be after it themselves. Where's 
your ' Herald'? We may get on better. at some other 

They found an advertisement of a diamond ring 
found, and started in pursuit of the finder. As Jack 

128 HOUGH AND heady; oji^ 

said, " We might get it, you know ; and if we don't, 
there's no harm done." 

Mr. O' Connor had various other applications for 
the pocket-book, of which we will only describe one. 

A woman dressed in black presented herself about 

"Is this the superintendent?" she asked. 

" Yes, ma'am." 

"I came to see you about that pocket-book you 
advertise. I am a widow with six children, and I 
have hai'd work to get along. Yesterday I sent out 
my oldest boy to pay the rent ; but he is a careless 
boy, and I suppose he got to playing in the street, 
and it fell out of his pocket. It was a great loss to 
me, and a widow's blessings shall rest upon you, sir, 
if you restore it. My boy's name is Henry, and I 
can bring you the best recommendations that I am 
a respectable woman, and my word can be relied 

This speech was delivered with such volubility, 
and with such a steady flow of words, that the super 
intendent had no opportunity of interrupting her. 


"May I ask your name, madam?" he said at 

"My name is Manson, sir, Mrs. Manson. My 
husband was an honest man, — he was a blacksmith, — 
but he was took down sudden with a fever about three 
years ago, that carried him off, and left me to get 
along as well as I could with my family of children. 
I ought to be back now ; so if you'll give it to me, you 
you can take what you like for the advertising, and 
to pay you for your trouble." 

" You are a little too fast, Mrs. Manson. How 
am I to know that the pocket-book is yours ? " 

" I '11 bring my son Henry to prove that he lost the 
pocket-book when he was going to pay the rent." 

'^ That will not be necessary. All you will have 
to do will be to describe the pocket-book and its 
contents, and, if your description is correct, I will 
take it for granted that it belongs to you, and give it 
to you at once." 

"Describe it, sir?" 

"Yes, what was the color?" 

" I can't justly say, sir, for it was Henry's pocket- 


book," said Mrs. Manson, hesitating ; " but I think it 
was black." 

" And how much money was there in it? " 

" Thirty dollars," said the widow, with a little hes- 

" Then the pocket-book isn't yours. Good morn- 
ing, madam." 

" It's hard upon a poor widow to lose her money, 
sir, and then have the finder refuse to give it up," 
whined Mrs. Manson. 

" It would be, no doubt ; but it would be equally 
hard for the real owner of the money for me to give 
it to the wrong person." 

" But I think the pocket-book is mine." 

" You are mistaken, madam." 

Mrs. Manson, who, by the waj'-, was not a widow, 
and didn't have six children as represented, went 
away crestfallen. 

A week passed, and the money still remained in 
the hands of Mr. O'Connor. Numerous applicants 
had been drawn by the advertisment, one or two of 
whom had met with genuine losses, but the greater 
part were adventurers who trusted to lucky guessing 


to get hold of money that did not belong to them. 
The advertisements of money lost were also carefully 
examined daily ; but there was none that answered 
to the sum found by the newsbo3^ 

" I am beginning to think," said Mr. O'Connor, 
after a week had passed, " that you won't find an 
owner for this money, Rufus. What do you intend 
to do with it ? " 

"I'll put it in some bank, sir," said the newsboy, 
promptly. " I don't need to use it at present, but I 
may some time. It'll be something for me to fall 
back upon, if I get sick." 

" I am glad you do not mean to live upon it. I 
was afraid it might encourage you to idleness." 

" No, sir, it won't do that," said Rough and Ready, 
promptly. " I'm not such a fool as that. I've got a 
little sister to take care of, and I've thought some- 
times, 'What if I should get sick?' but with this 
money, I shan't feel afraid. I think it'll make me 
work harder. I should like to add something to it 
if I could." ■ 

" That is the right way to talk, Rufus," said the 
superiiitendent, approvingly. " I think you are a 

132 itouGH AND ready; or, 

good boy, and I shall be glad to help you with 
advice, or in any other way, whenever you need it. 
I wish you could get an education ; it would help 
you. along in life hereafter." 

" I am studying every evening, sir," said the 
newsboy. " Miss Manning, a friend of mine, that 
my sister boards with, is helping me. I hope to be 
something higher than a newsboy some time." 

The superintendent warmly applauded his deter- 
mination, and a week later gave the pocket-book up to 
Rough and Ready, feeling that every reasonable 
effort to find an owner had been tried. 




One day Rough and Ready came to see his sister, 
and displayed a bank-book on one of the city savings- 
banks, containing an entry of three hundred dollars 
to his credit. 

''"What do you think of that, Rosie?" he said. 
" Don't you thinli I am rich? " 

" I don't see anything but a little book," said Rose, 
who knew nothing of the way in which savings-banks 
were conducted. " There isn't any money in it," she 
continued, turning over the leaves with the expec- 
tation of finding some bills folded between them. 

" You don't understand it, Rose. That little book 
is worth three hundred dollars." 

" Three hundred dollars! "Why, I wouldn't give 
five cents for it." 

The newsboy laughed. "It shows that I have 


three hundred dollars in the bank, which they will 
pay me whenever I want it." 

" That is nice," said Rose. "I am so glad you are 
rich, Rufle." 

" Then you have heard nothing of the owner of the 
money, Rufus ? " said Miss Manning. 

" No, I have heard nothing. Mr. O'Connor says I 
shall be right in keeping the money now, as I have 
tried to find the owner, and cannot." 

" "What do you propose to do with it? " 

" I shall keep it in the bank at present, until I 
need it. But there is one thing I would like to do, 
Miss Manning." 

"What is that?" 

" I would like to make you a present, — a dress, or 
shawl, or whatever you need most." 

" Thank you, Rufus ; you are very kind," said the 
seamstress ; " but I would prefer that you would leave 
the money untouched. Since I made the arrange- 
ment with you about Rose, I am doing much better 
than I did before, and I feel much better, because I 
have more sustaining food. I feel now as if I could 
afford to take a little time to sew for myself. I 


bought a dress-pattern yesterday, and I shall make 
it up next week." 

" But I should like very much to make you a pres- 
ent, Miss Manning." 

" So you shall, Rufus, whenever you have a thou- 
sand dollars laid aside. At present I do not need 
anything, and I would rather you would keep your 

To this resolution Miss Manning a,dhered, in spite 
of the newsboy's urgent persuasion. She knew very 
well that three hundred dollars, though it seemed a 
large sum to him, would rapidly melt away if it was 
once broken in upon, and she wished it to be kept as 
a " nest-egg," and an encouragement for future accu- 

"At any rate," said Rufus, "I want to celebrate 
my good luck, and I want you to help me do it. Let 
us go to-morrow afternoon to Greenwood Cemeteiy. 
I think Rose will like it, and as it is a beautiful place 
it will be pleasant for us all." 

" Very well," said the seamstress, " I will agree to 
that, if you will wait till I have finished my dress. 

136 itouan and ready; oe, 

I think I can have it done, so that we can go on 
Wednesday afternoon. Will that do?" 

" Yes, that will suit me very well. I hope it will 
be a pleasant day." 

" If it is not, we can defer it to the next day." 

It will need to be explained that Rufus had already 
five dollars in the bank previous to his coming into 
possession of the contents of the pocket-book. That 
had originally contained three hundred dollars, but 
five dollars had been taken out to defray the ex- 
penses of advertising in the " Herald." 

When Eose was informed of the contemplated excur- 
sion, she was filled with delight. The poor child had 
had very little pleasure or variety, and the excursion, 
brief as it was, she anticipated with eager enjoyment. 

The day opened auspiciously. The early morning 
hours the newsboy devoted to his business, being un- 
willing to lose a day's earnings. At eleven o'clock 
he came to Miss Manning's lodgings. " Well, I am 
through mth my day's work," he said. " How much 
do you think I have earned ? " 

" Seventy-five cents ? " said the seamstress, inquir- 


" A dollar and twenty cents," he said. 

" You have been very smart. "What a number of 
papers yoa must have sold ! " 

" I didn't make it all that way; There were two 
boys who were hard up, and hadn't any blacking- 
brushes ; so I bought them some, and they are to pay 
me ten cents a day, each of them, for a month, then I 
shall let them keep the brushes." 

" Do the boys often make such arrangements?" 

" No, they generally go whacks. The boy who bor- 
rows agrees to pay half his earnings to the boy that 
sets him up in business." 

" That is rather a hard bargain." 

" Yes, I didn't want to charge so much. So I only 
charged ten cents a day." 

" That will pay you a good profit ; but how do you 
know but the boys will keep the brushes, and won't 
pay you anything?" 

" Oh, they won't do that. They'll keep their prom- 
ises, or nobody would help 'em next time they get 
hard up." 

Miss Marming had prepared an early dinner, to 
which they all sat down. This was soon despatched, 


and they set out together for the South Ferrj'-, from 
which cars ran to the cemetery. 

They reached the ferry about noon, and at once 
crossed over. Eose enjoyed the ride upon the boat, 
for, though New York is surrounded by ferries, she 
had hardly ever ridden on a ferry-boat. 

" I wish we didn't get out so quick," she said. 

" Do you like being on the water, Rosie?" 

" Ever so much," replied the little girl. 

" Then we will take a longer excursion some day 
soon. "We can go to Staten Island. That will be 
six miles each way." 

" That will be nice. I hope we can go soon." 

They soon reached the Brooklyn side, and disem- 
barked with the throng of fellow-passengers. A car 
was waiting the boat's arrival, on which they saw 
" Greenwood " printed. 

"Jump on board quick," said Rough and Ready, 
" or you won't get seats." 

Miss Manning barely got a seat. She took Rose in 
her lap, and the newsboy stood out on the platform 
with the conductor. The ride was a pleasant one to 
all three, but no incidents happened worth noting. 


Wlien Rnfus settled the fare, the conductor said jo- 
cosely, " Your wife and child, I suppose?" 

" No," said the newsboy, " all my children are 
gi'own up and out of the way. They don't give me 
any trouble." 

" That's where you're lucky," said the conductor. 
" It's more than I can say." 

" Have you a family ? " 

" Yes, I have a wife and four children, and pre- 
cious hard work I find it to support them on my 
small wages. But it's no use asking any more." 

" That's my sister, the little girl I mean," said 
Eufus. " The other is a friend who looks after her. 
I have to support her ; but that's only one, while you 
have five." 

" She looks like a nice little girl. She is about 
the size of my oldest girl." 

" She's a dear little sister," said the newsboy, 
warmly. " I should feel very lonely without her." 

He little thought as he spoke that the loneliness to 
which he referred was speedily to come upon him. 
But we will not anticipate. 

They got out at the entrance of the cemetery, and 


entered the grounds. Greenwood Cemetery, of 
which all ray readers have probably heard, is very 
extensive, the grounds comprising over three hun- 
dred acres. It is situated about two and a half miles 
from the South Ferry, on what is now known as Gow- 
anus Heights. Its elevated position enables it to 
command charming views of the bay and harbor of 
New York ; with its islands and forts, the twin cities 
of New York and Brooklyn, the New Jersey shore, 
the long lines of city wharves, with their forests of 
masts, and an extensive view of the ocean. The nu- 
merous and beautiful trees crowning the elevations, 
the costly monuments, the winding paths, so inter- 
secting each other as almost to make a labyrinth, 
render this a charming spot, and death assumes a 
less repulsive aspect amid such surroundings. 

" How beautiful it is ! " said Miss Manning, gaz- 
ing about her thoughtfully. " I have never been 
here before." 

" I never came but once," said the newsboy, " and 
that was a good while ago." 

Little Rose was charmed, and darted first into one 
path, then into another, and was about to pluck some 


flowers, until she was told that this was against the 

" What a lot of dead people live here ! " she said, 
as from a little height they saw white stones and 
monuments rising on every side. 

" She has used the right word, after all, Rufus," 
said Miss Manning ; " for death is only the introduc- 
tion to another life. I sometimes think that those 
whose bodies lie here are not wholly insensible to the 
beauty b}'' which they are surrounded." 

"I don't know," said the newsboy, "I never 
thought much about it till mother died. I wish she 
had been buried here. I think it would be a comfort 
to me. Poor mother ! she had a hard life ; " and he 
sighed. " I want Eose to have a happier one." 

" Let us hope she will. Have you heard anything 
of Mr. Martin lately?" 

She carefully avoided using the word " stepfather" 
for she had observed that even, this recognition of re- 
lationship was distasteful to the boy, who had im- 
bibed a bitter prejudice against the man who had 
wi'ecked his mother's happiness, and undoubtedly 
abridged her life bj'' several years. 


" No, I liave not seen him since the day after I 
took Rose away from Leonard Street. I think he 
cannot be in the city, or he would have come round 
to where I was selling papers. I expected he would 
be round before to ask me for some money." 

" What do 3"0U think has become of him?" 

"Maybe he has gone back into the country. I 
hope he has, for I should feel safer about Rose." 

Here the conversation closed for the time. They 
rambled on without any particular aim, wherever 
fancy dictated. They came upon most of the notable 
monuments, including that of the sea-captain, and 
that of Miss Cauda, the young heiress, who, dying by 
a violent accident, with no one to inherit her wealth, 
it was decided that it should all be expended upon a 
costly monument, which has ever since been one of 
the chief ornaments of the cemetery. 

At length they began to think of returning, but had 
some difficulty at first in finding their way to the 
gate, so perplexing is the maze of paths. 

" I don't know but we shall have to stay here all 
night," said Rufus. " How should you like that, 


" I wouldn't care," said the little girl. " I think 
the grass would make a nice soft bed." 

But to this necessity they were not reduced, as after 
a while they-emerged into a broad path that led down 
to the gateway. They passed through it, and got on 
board a horse-car. 

" I think we will go to Fulton Ferry this time," 
said Rough and Ready. " It will give us a little 

He did not realize to what misfortune this choice 
of his would lead, or he would not have made it ; but 
we cannot foresee what our most trifling decisions 
may lead to. In due time they got on board the Ful- 
ton ferry-boat, and went into the ladies' cabin. They 
didn't see a man who followed their motions with an 
eager gaze, mingled with malice. It was James Mar- 
tin, who saw Rose now for the first time since she 
was taken from Leonard Street by her brother. 

" This is lucky ! " he muttered to himself. " I will 
find out where she lives, and then it will be a pretty 
tight cage, or I shall be able to secure the bird." 

But there was danger that, if he followed in person, 
the newsboy might look back, and, perceiving his 


design, foil it by going in the wrong direction. He 
quickly decided what to do. There was a half-grown 
boy near by whom he knew slightly. 

" Here, boy," said he, " do you want to earn half a 

" Yes," said the boy. 

" Then you must follow some people whom I will 
point out to you, and find out where they live. Don't 
let them see that they are followed." 

" All right, sir." 

"When Eough and Ready got out of the boat with 
his two companions, they were followed at a little dis- 
tance by this boy ; but of this they were quite un- 




James Martin waited at tlie Fulton Ferry for the 
return of his emissary. But he had to wait a long 
time, as the lodgings occupied by Miss Manning and 
little Rose were rather more than a mile distant, and 
their progress was somewhat delaj^ed by their stop- 
ping to listen to a little Italian boy and his sister 
who were singing near the head of Fulton Street. 
Then there was a difficulty in crossing Broadway, on 
account of the stream of vehicles. Owing to these 
causes, it was an hour and a quarter before the mes- 
senger returned. James Martin had about made up 
his mind that the boy had given up the quest, and 
was starting away in vexation and disappointment, 
just as he appeared in sight. 

"Well, you've been gone long enough," he said, 

roughly. " Why didn't you stay all night? " 

"I came as quick as I could. It's a long ways," 

146 Mouon AND rbady; or, 

said the boy. "Then they stopped two or three 

" Did you find out where they lived ? " asked Mar- 
tin, eagerly, 

"Yes, I followed 'em clear to the door." 

"Where is it?" 

" Where's the half dollar you promised me ? " said 
the boy, with commendable caution. 

" I'll give it to you when you've told me where it 

" I want it first." 

" Do you think I won't give it to you?" demanded 
Martin, angrily. 

" Maybe jow. will, and maybe you won't. I never 
saw you before." 

" I'll give you the money as soon as you tell me." 

"It's No. 125 Centre Street." 

"All right, my lad, I'll paj'' you when I get ready, 
as long as you've made such a fuss about it." 

" Well," said the boy, cooll}^, " I guess you won't 
make any more out of it than I do." 

" Why not? " asked Martin, suspiciously. 


" Because I've told you the -wrong street and num- 

"Is that so?" 

" If you don't believe it, go to 125 Centre Street, 
and see if you can find them." 

"You're a young rascal," said Martin, angry at 
being foiled. 

" Maybe I am ; but I don't mean to be cheated by 
you or any other man." 

" I've a good mind to give you a thrashing." 

"You'd better if you want to sleep in the station- 
house to-night," returned the boy, not in the least 

" So you were going to tell me the wrong place, 
and take my money, were you ? " 

" No ; if you'd given me the money, I'd have told 
you right afterwards." 

""Well, here's your mone}^," said Martin, taking 
out fifty cents. 

" I want seventy-five cents now." 

"What for?" 

" Because you tried to cheat me.'* 
^" Then I won't give you anything." 


" All right. Then yon must find out for yourself 
where they live." 

" Come, bo}^, don't be foolish. Here's your fifty 

" Keep it yourself till there's twenty-five more." 

Further effort proving unavailing, James Martin 
recalled the boy, who had already started to go, and 
verj^ unwillingly complied with his demand. 

" Well," said the boy, depositing the money care- 
full3^ in his pocket, "now I'll tell you. It's No. — 
Franklin Street, near the North River." 

"Are you telling me the truth?" asked Martin, 
suspiciously, for he would never have thought of this 

" Yes, it's the truth. If you. don't believe it, you 
can go and see for yourself." 

" Franklin Street ! " repeated Martin to himself. 
" Perhaps it's true. The boy's a deep one. He 
thought I wouldn't find him out there. Perhaps he'll 
find himself mistaken. I'd like to see him when he 
finds the girl gone." 

James Martin, not relying wholly on the boy's 
information, determined to go round and find the 


place indicated, and see if be couldn't ascertain 
definitely whether it was correct. If so, he would 
lay his plans accordingly. 

Following up this determination, twenty minutes 
later found him standing in" front of the house. But 
he could not, without inquiring, obtain the desired 
information, and this he hardly liked to do, lest it 
should be reported to Eough and Eeady, and so pat 
him on his guard. 

He stood undecided what to do ; but chance favored 
him. While he was considering, he saw the newsboy 
himself come up the street and enter the house, with a 
loaf of bread under his arm. He was just returning 
from a bakery near by, and the bread was to form a 
part of the supper to which all thi'ce brought excel- 
lent appetites. 

James Martin crouched back in a door-way, in order 

to escape observation, at the same time pulling his 

hat over his eyes. The precaution, however, proved 

unnecessary, for the newsboy never looked across the 

street, and was far enough from suspecting -tlie 

danger that menaced the little household. He was 

thinking rather of the nice supper, — a little better 

150 BOUGH AND JREABr ; Oil, 

than usual, — Avhich was being prepared in honor of 
the holiday, and thinking how much more pleasantly 
they were situated than in the room at Leonard 
Street, on the other side of the city. 

"It's all right!" muttered Martin to himself with 
satisfaction. " The boy told me the truth, and I 
don't mind the seventy-iive cents, as long as I've 
found out where they live. They'll find I aint so 
easily fooled as I might be. A day or two'll tell the 

He had learned all he wished to know, and walked 
back to Broadwa}?-, where it is unnecessary to follow 

The next day Rose and Miss Manning were sitting 
together in the neat little room to which both had 
become attached. Miss Manning was sewing as 
usual. Rose was sitting on a stool at her feet, with 
her eyes fixed on a small reading-book. 

" I think I know my lesson, Miss Manning," she 
said at last, raising her eyes. 

" Very well. Rose, I am ready to hear you." 

The seamstress laid dowi^ her work, and Rose, 


standing by her side, read the lesson to her without a 

"Didn't I say it well, Miss Manning?" she asked, 

" Yes, Eose, you are doing famously ; I am quite 
proud of my pupil." 

" I shall soon get through my book. Then Eufie 
will have to buy me another." 

" I have no doubt he will be very glad to do so, 
Eose. He is very anxious that you should get along 

" Isn't he a good boy, Miss Manning? " 

" Yes, he is a yery kind, considerate brother." 

" I like it so much better than when I lived with — 
Mr. Martin. Do you think I shall ever see him 
again. Miss Manning ? " 

" I cannot tell, Eose. I hope not ; for I do not 
think you would be happy with him." 

" He used to drink rum, and it made him so cross 
I used to be afraid of him." 

" Eum ruins a great many people, Eose." 

" I don't see how anybody can like it," said the 
little girl, "Once fath — I mean Mr. Martin, 


brought some home in a bottle, and when he was 
out, I thought I would just taste a little — " 

" O Rose ! " 

" Only a very little, a tiny spoonful, to see how it 
tasted. But it was so strong, and tasted so bad, I 
could not swallow it. I don't see how anybody can 
like it." 

"Yes, Rose, it does seem strange. But I am 
going to ask you to go on a little errand for me." 

" I should like to go," said the little gii'l, jumping 
up. " What is it. Miss Manning? " 

"I need a spool of cotton. You know the little 
store round the corner," 

"Lindsay's?" " . 

" Yes. I should like to have you go there and buy 
me another spool, the same number as this. I will 
give you the spool, so that you can show it to the 
man behind the counter." 

" Yes, Miss Manning." 

" Here are ten cents. You can bring me back the 
change. If you want to, you can stop at the candy- 
shop, and buy a stick of candy out of what is 


"Oh, thank 3^ou, Miss Manning. Shan't I buy 
you a stick too?" 

" No, Rose, I have got over my love for candy." 

"Didn't you use to like it when you were a little 

" Yes, Eose ; but now make haste, for I have only 
a needleful of cotton left, and I want to finish this 
work to-night, if I can." 

Rose put on her bonnet, and went downstairs, 
proud of the commission with which she was in- 
trusted. She was actually going shopping, just as 
grown women do, and this gave her a feeling of dig- 
nity which made her carry her little form with unu- 
sual erectness. She little suspected that the danger 
which her brother and herself most dreaded lay in 
wait for her in the street beneath ; that she was 
about to be torn from the pleasant home which she 
had begun to enjoy so much. Nor did Miss Man- 
ning suspect to what peril she was exposing her 
young charge, and what grief she was unconsciously 
laying up for Rufus and herself. 

James Martin was lurking near the house, and had 
been lounging about there for three or four hours. 


He had notified his employer in the morning that he 
had business in New York, and should be unable to 
work that day. He had also given notice to his 
landlady that he expected to bring his daughter 
home that night, and he wanted her to prepare 
accommodations for her. 

With the design of procuring her he had come 
over and repaired to Franklin Street ; but Rose and 
Miss Manning seldom stirred out in the morning, 
and he had watched and waited in vain until now. 
He had made several visits to a neighboring groggery 
and indulged in potations which helped to while away 
the time, but he was getting very impatient, when, to 
his great joy, he saw Rose come out upon the side- 
walk, and alone, which was better still. He had 
made up his mind to claim her, even if she were 
accompanied by Miss Manning ; but this might excite 
a disturbance, and he knew there would be danger 
of interference from the police, which he did not 
court. So he considered it a remarkable stroke of 
good luck when he saw Rose coming out alone. 

" There she is," he said to himself. " I'll soon 
nab her. But I wonder where she is going." 


He might have seized her at once, but he thought 
it best not to do so. Very likely there might be 
somebody who might witness the seizure, who would 
know that she was living with Miss Manning, and 
might be inclined to interfere. He thought it would 
be better to follow her a little distance, and effect the 
capture in another locality. 

Eose pursued her way, unconscious of the danger 
that menaced her. She entered the store , made her 
purchase, and it wasn't till she had gone a little 
away from the store that she felt a heavy hand upon 
her shoulder, and, looking round, to her indescribable 
dismay and terror, recognized her stepfather. 

156 BOUGH AND keadt; OJt, 



" So I've found you at last," said James Martin, 
looking grimly at Rose, bending over so that the 
fumes of his breath, tainted with liquor, seemed to 
scorch her innocent cheek. 

"Let me go," said Rose, terrified and ready to 

" Let you go ! " repeated Martin, with a sneer. 
" Is that all the welcome you've got for me, after I've 
taken the pains to come clear over from Brooklyn 
to find you ? No, I can't let you go ; I'm your father, 
and you must go with me." 

" I can't, indeed I can't," said Rose, in distress. 
"I want to stay with Rufie and Miss Manning." 

"I can't allow it. I'm your father, and I'm 
responsible for you. Your brother aint fit to have 
charge of you. Come along." 


He seized her by the shoulder, and began to push 
her along. 

"I don't want to go," said Eose, crying. "I 
don't want to leave Eufie." 

"I don't care what you want," said Martin, 
roughly. "You've got to come with me, anyhow. 
As for your brother, I don't want him. He'd be try- 
ing to kidnap you again. I might have put him in 
prison for it ; but I'll let him go this time, if you 
don't make any fuss." 

"What is the matter?" asked a policeman, who 
came up as Eose was struggling weakly in the grasp 
of her stepfather. " What are you pulling along 
the little girl for?" 

" Because she won't come without," said Martin. 
" She ran away from home with her brother a few 
weeks ago, and I've just found her." 

" Is she your child? " 

" Yes." 

" Is that true ? " asked the policeman,' not partic- 
ularly prepossessed in Martin's favor by his personal 
appearance, his face being unusually inflamed by his 


morning potations. His question Tvas of course 
directed to Rose. 

" No, I aint his child now," said Rose. " Rufle has 
the care of me." 

" And who is Rufie? " 

" He is my brother." 

" He's a young rascal," said Martin, " up to all 
sorts of mischief. He'll lie and steal, and anything 
else that's bad. He aint fit to have charge of 

" It isn't true," said the little girl, indignantly. 
" He doesn't lie nor steal. He's the best boy that 
ever lived." 

" I haven't anything to do with that," said the 
policeman. " The question is, is this your father?" 

" He was mother's husband," said Rose, reluc- 

" Then he is your stepfather." 

" Don't let him take me away," said Rose, im- 

" If he's your stepfather, I can't stop him. But, 
hark jon, my man, I advise you to be kiud to the 
little girl. If you are not, I hope slie'U run away 


from you. You look as if you'd been cliinking pretty 
hard this morning." 

" It's the trouble I've had about her that made me 
drink," said Martin, apologetically. " I was afraid 
she wasn't taken good care of. Come along now, 
Eose. He says you must go." . 

"Let me go and speak to Miss Manning first," 
entreated Rose. " I've got a spool of cotton I've 
just bought for her." 

" I'm not such a fool as that," said Martin. " I've 
looked for you long enough, and now I've got you I 
mean to hold on to you." 

" But Miss Manning won't know where I am," 
pleaded Rose. 

" It's none of her business where you are. She 
aint no relation of yours." 

"But she's been very kind to me." 

" She was kind enough to keep you away from me ; 
she hasn't anything to do with you, and I don't mean 
she shall ever see you again." 

Poor Rose ! the thought that she was to be forever 
separated from her kind friend, Miss Manning, smote 

160 ROUGH AND ready; or, ^ 

her with a sharp sorrow, and she began to cry bit- . 

" Stop your whimpering," said Martin, roughly, 
" or I'll give you something to cry about." 

But, even with this threat hanging over her. Rose 
could not check the flow of her tears. Those persons 
whom they met looked with sympathy at the prett}^ 
little girl, who was roughly pulled along by the red- 
faced, rough-looking man ; and more than one would 
have been glad to interfere if he had .felt authorized 
to do so. 

James Martin did not relish the public attention 
drawn to them by Rose's tears, for he knew instinc- 
tively that the sympathy would be with her, and not 
with himself. As soon as possible he got the child 
on board a horse-car bound for the South Ferry. 
This was something of an improvement, for he was 
no longer obliged to drag her along. But even in the 
cars her tears continued to flow. 

"What's the matter with your little girl?" asked 
a kind, motherly-looking woman, who had a daughter 
at home about Rose's age, and whose sj^mpathies 


were therefore more readily excited by" the appear- 
ance of distress in the child's face. 

" She's been behaving badly, ma'am," said Martin. 
• *' She doesn't look like a bad child," said the good 
woman, kindly. 

"You can't tell by her looks," said Martin. 
" Maybe you'd think, to look at her, that she was one 
of the best children out ; but she's very troublesome." 

"I'm sorry to hear that. You should try to be 
good, my dear," said the woman, gently. 

Rose didn't reply, but continued to shed tears. 

" She's got a brother that's a regular bad one," 
continued Mr. Martin. " He's a little scamp, if there 
ever was one. Would you believe it, ma'am, he in- 
duced his sister to run away from home some weeks 
ago, and ever since I've been hunting all around to 
find her?" 

" Is it possible ? " exclaimed the other, interested. 
" Where did you find her, if I may be allowed to 

" In a low place, in the western part of the city," 

said Mr. Martin. " It wasn't a fit place for a child 

like her. Her brother carried her away from a good 

162 nouGn and heady; on, 

home, just out of spite, because he got angry with 

" It must have made you feel very anxious." 

"Yes," said Mr. Martin, pathetically. " It wq^-- 
ried me so I couldn't sleep nights. I've been hunting 
night and day for her ever since, but it's only to-day 
that I got track of her. She's crying now because 
she didiji't want to leave the woman her brother 
placed her with." 

" I'm sorry to hear it. My dear, you will be bet- 
ter off at home than among strangers. Don't you 
think you will ? " 

"No, I slian't," said Rose. " Miss Manning was a 
good woman, and was very kind to me." 

"She isn't old enough to judge," said Martin,' 
shrugging his shoulders. 

"No, of course no^. Where do you live?" 

" In Brooklyn." ' 

" Well, good-by ; I get out here." 

" Good-by, ma'am. I hope you won't have so 
much trouble with your children as I have." 

" I am sure j'our little girl will be better when she 
sets home." 


" I hope SO, ma'am." 

Eose did not speak. She was too much distressed, 
and, child as she was, she had an instinctive feeling 
that her stepfather was - false and h3'pocritical, and 
she did not feel spirit enough to contradict his asser- 
tions about herself and Rufus. 

At length they reached the ferry, and embarked on 
the ferry-boat. 

Eose no longer tried to get away. In the first 
place, she was now so far away from home that she 
would not have known her way back. Besides, she 
saw that Mr. Martin was determined to carry her 
with him,. and that resistance would be quite useless ; 
so in silent misery she submitted herself to what it 
seemed impossible to escape. 

They got into the cars on the other side, and the 
trip passed without incident. 

" We get out here," said Mr. Martin, when they 
had been riding about half an hour. 

Rose meekly obeyed his summons, and followed 
him out of the car. 

" Now, young lady," said Mr. Martin, sternly, " I 


am going to give you a piece of advice. Are you 

" Yes," said Rose, dispiritedly. 

" Then j^ou had better give up snivelling at once. 
It aint going to do you any good. Maybe, if you 
behave well, I'll let your brother see you after a 
while, but if you kick up a fuss you'll never see him 
again in the world. Do you understand? " 

" Yes." 

" I hope you do. Anyway, you'd better. I live 
over here now. I've took board for you and myself 
in the house of a woman that's got a girl about as 
big as you. If you aint foolish you'll have a good 
time playing with her." 

" I want to see Rufie," moaned Rose. 

" Well, you can't, and the sooner you make up 
your mind to that the better. Here we are." 

He opened the front door of the shabby boarding- 
house, and said to the servant whom he met in the 
■entry, "Where's Mrs. Waters?" 

" I'll call her directly, if 3'-ou'd like to see her.** 

" Yes, I want to see her." 


Mrs. "Waters shortly appeared, her face red with 
heat, from the kitchen. 

"I've brought my little girl along, as I told you," 
said Martin. 

"So this is your little girl, is it? She's a nice 
child," said Mrs. Waters, rather surprised to find 
that a man of Mr. Martin's unpromising exterior had 
so attractive a child. 

"No, she isn't," said Martin, shaking his head. 
" She's very badly behaved. I've let her stay in 
New York with some relations, and she didn't want 
to come back and see father. She's been making a 
great fuss about it." 

" She'll feel better to-morrow," said Mrs. Waters. 
" How old is she?" 

" Seven years old." 

" Just the age of my Fanny." 

" You said you could let her occupy the same bed 
with your little girl." 

"Yes, they can sleep together. Fanny will like 
to have a girl of her own age to play with. Wait a 
minute, — I'll call her." 

Fanny Waters was a short, dumpy little girl, of 

166 ROUGn AND ready; or, 

extreme plainness. Eose looked at her, but didn't 
appear to feel much attracted. 

" You can go out into the back j^ard together and 
play," said Mrs. Waters ; "x)nly mind and don't get 
into any mischief." 

" Wait a minute," said Mr. Martin, calling Rose 
aside, " I want to speak to her a minute. If," he 
continued, addressing the child, " you try to run 
away, I'll go over to New York, and shoot your 
brother through the head with a pistol. So mind 
what you're about." 

Rose listened in silent terror, for she thought her 
stepfather might really do as he threatened, and it 
had a greater effect upon her than if he had threat- 
ened harm to herself. 

James Martin witnessed with satisfaction the 
effect produced in the pale, scared face of the child, 
and he said to himself, " I don't think she'll run 
away in a hurry." 




" ' Times,' ' Herald,' ' Tribune,' ' World' ! " cried 
Eough and Ready, from his old place in front of the 
" Times " building. " All the news that's going, for 
only four cents ! That's cheap enough, isn't it ? 
Have a paper, sir?" 

" I don't know. Is there any particular news this 
morning ? " asked the individual addressed. 

" Yes, sir, lots of it. You will find ten cents' worth 
in every one of the papers, which will give you a 
clear profit of six cents on your investment. Which 
will you have?" 

" Let me look at a paper a minute, and I'll see." 

" I don't do business that way," said the newsboy; 
" not since one morning when I let an old gentleman 
look at a paper just for a minute. He read it for 
half an hour, and then returned it, sayin' there 
wasn't much in it, and he guessed he wouldn't buy," 

168 ROVGH AND beadt; or, 

" Well, liere's your money. Give me the ' Times,' '* 
said the other. 

" Here you are ! " said the newsboy, pocketing the 
money, and placing a "Times" in the hand of the 

" Give me the ' Herald,' " said another. 

Unfolding the paper, he glanced his eye over it, 
. and said, in evident disappointment, " I heard there 
was a railroad accident somewhere, with about fifty 
persons killed and wounded ; but I don't see it any- 

" I'm sorry you're disappointed," said the news- 
boy. " It's soothin' to the feelings to read about a 
smash-up, with lots of persons killed and wounded. 
Just come along to-morrow mornin', and I guess 
you'll find what you want." 

" What makes you think so?" asked the customer, 

" If you won't mention it," said Rough and Eeady, 
lowering. his voice, "I don't mind telling you that 
the ' Herald ' has sent up a reporter to put a big rock 
on the Erie Road, and throw off the afternoon train. 
As he will be on the spot, he can give a full report, 


exclusive for the 'Herald'! Then again, the 
' Times ' and ' Tribune ' are arrangin' to get up some 
' horrid murders.' Maybe they'll have 'em in to- 
morrow's paper. You'd better come round, and buy 
'em all. I'll make a discount to a wholesale 

"It's my belief that you're a humbug," said the 
disappointed customer. 

"Thank you, sir," said Rough and Ready; "I've 
been takin' lessons of Barnum, only I haven't made 
60 much money yet." 

The next customer asked for the " Tribune." 

" Here it is, sir." 

"Did 3^ou ever see Mr. Greeley?" he inquired. 
"Hive in the country, and I have often thought I 
should like to see so intrepid a champion of the 
people's rights." 

" There he is now," said the newsboy, pointing to 
a somewhat portly man, who had just got out of a 

" You don't say so ! " ejaculated the country reader 
•of the " Tribune." " I should like to go and shake 


hands with him, but he might take it as too great a 
liberty. I didn't linow he was so stout." 

"Go ahead!" said the newsboy. "He won't 
mind. He's used to it." 

" I think I will. I should like to tell the folks at 
home that I had shaken hands with Horace Greeley." 

Now it happened that the personage who had been 
pointed out as Horace Greeley was really no other 
than Mr. Barnum himself, the illustrious showman. 
The newsboy was well aware of this, and was led to 
make the statement by his desire to see a little fun. 
I shall not attempt to justify him in this deception ; 
but I have undertaken to set Eough and Read}^ before 
the reader as he was, not as he ought to be, and, 
though a good boy in the main, he was not without 

Mr. Greeley's admirer walked up to Mr. Barnum, 
and grasped his hand cordially. 

" Sir," he said, " I hope you will excuse the liberty 
I am taking, but I couldn't help addressing you." 

" I am glad to meet you, sir," said Mr. Barnumj 
courteously. " Perhaps I have met you before, but I 


meet so many people that I cannot always remember 

" No, sir, we have never met before, but your fame 
has reached our village ; indeed, I may say, it has 
spread all over the .country, and when I was told who 
you were I could not help coming up and telling you 
how much we all sympathize with you in your philan- 
thropic efforts." 

Mr. Barnum looked somewhat perplexed. He was 
not altogether certain whether his temperance lec- 
tures were referred to, or his career as manager of 
the Museum. He answered therefore rather vaguely, 
*' I try to do something to mal^e the world happier. 
I am very glad my efforts are appreciated." 

" Yes, sir, you may be certain they are appreciated 
throughout the length and breadth of the land," said 
the other, fervently. 

"You are very kind," said Barnum; "but I am 
afraid you will not get all to agree with you. There 
are some who do not view me so favorably." 

" Of course. Such is always the fate of the philan- 
thropist. There are some, no doubt, who decry jon, 
but their calumnies are unavailable. ' Truth crushed 


to earth will rise again.' I need not continue tlie 

" You are certainly ver}'^ complimentary, Mr. ; 

perhaps you will oblige me with your name." 

" Nathan Bedloe. I keep a seminary in the 
country. I have read the ' Tribune ' for years, Mr. 
Greeley, and have found in your luminous editorials 
the most satisfactory exposition of the principles 
which I profess." 

Mr. Bai'num's ej^es distended with astonishment as 
he caught the name Greele}^, and his facial muscles 
twitched a little. 

" How did you know me? " he asked. 

" That newsboy pointed you out to me," said the 
other, indicating Rough and Eeady, who was watch- 
ing with interest the conversation between the two. 

"Yes, the newsboys know me," said Barnum. 
"So you like the ' Tribune'?" 

" Yes, sir, it is an admirable paper. I would as 
Boon do without my dinner as without it." 

" I am very glad you like it," said Barnum ; " but 
I fear my own contributions to it (referring to the 
advertisement of the Museum) are not worthy of such 


kind compliments. I must bid you good-morning, a,t 
present, a.s my engagements are numerous." 

" I can easily believe it, Mr. Greeley. Good-by, 
sir. Thank you for jour kind reception of an humble 

There was another shaking of hands, and Mr. 
Bedloe departed under the firm conviction that he 
had seen and talked with Horace Greeley. 

Three minutes later, Rough and Ready felt a hand 
upon his shoulder. Lifting up his eyes, he recog- 
nized Mr. Barnum. 

" Do you know me?" asked the latter. 

" Yes, sir, you are Mr. Barnum." 

" "Were you the boy who pointed me out as Horace 

" Yes, sir," said Rufus, laughing ; " but I didn't 
think the man would believe it." 

" He thinks so still," said Barnum. " I don't 
think there's much personal resemblance between me 
and the editor of the ' Tribune,' " he continued, 

"No, sir, not much." 

" Don't do it again, my lad. It's wrong to hum- 

174 ROUGn AND ready; or^ 

bug people, you know. By the way, do you ever 
come to the Museum?" 

« Yes, sh-." 

" "Well, your joke is worth something. Here is a 
season ticket for three months." 

He handed the newsboy, as he spoke, a slip of 
paper on which was written : — 

" Admit the bearer to any performance in the Museum , 
during the next three months. P. T. Barnum." 

" I got off better than I expected," thought Rough 
and Ready. " I didn't know but both of 'em would 
get mad, and be down upon me. I wish he'd given 
me a ticket for three, and I'd have taken Miss Man- 
ning and Rose along with me." 

As he thought of Rose, it was with a feeling of 
satisfaction that she was so well provided for. He 
had the utmost confidence in Miss Manning, and he 
saw that a mutual affection had sprung up between 
her and his little sister. 

"It'll be jolly when Rose grows up, and can keep 
house for me," he said to himself. " I hope I'll be in 
some good business then. Selling papers will do 
very well now, but I want to do something else after 


a while. I wonder whether that three hundred dol- 
lars I've got in the bank wouldn't set me up in some 
kind of business." 

While these thoughts were passing through his 
mind, he still kept crying his papers, and presently 
he had sold the last one. It was still comparatively 
early, and he thought he would look about a little to 
see if there was no chance of earning a little extra 
money by running on an errand. 

After a while he was commissioned to carry a mes- 
sage to Twenty-Second Street, for which he was to 
receive twenty-five cents, and his car fares. 

" I'll walk back," he thought, " and in that way 
I'll save six cents out of the fares." 

The walk being a long one, he was absent a con- 
siderable time, especially as he stojoped for a while at 
an auction on Broadway. At last he reached his 
old stand, and was thinking of buying some evening 
papers, when he heard his name called in a tone of 

Turning suddenly, he recognized Miss Manning 

" Miss Manning ! " he exclaimed, in surprise. 
" How do you happen to be here?" 


" I came to see you, Rufus." 

"Has anything happened?" he asked anxiously, 
seeing the troubled expression of her countenance. 
*' Nothing is the matter with Rose, is there?" 

" She has gone." 


" Yes, she has disappeared." 

" Don't say that, Miss Manning. Tell me quick 
all about it." 

"I sent her out on an errand this morning, just 
around the corner, for a spoolof cotton, and she has 
not got back." 

" Do you think she lost her way?" 

" She couldn't very well do that, it was so near by. 
No, Rufus, I am afraid she has been carried off by 
your stepfather." 

"What makes you think so. Miss Manning?" de 
manded Rufus, in excitement. 

*' I waited half an hour after she went out, wonder 
mg what could keep her so long. Then I began to 
feel anxious, and put on my bonnet, and slipped 
downstairs into the street. I went round to the 
store, and found she had gone there and made the 


purchase, and gone away directly.- I was wondering 
what to do* next, when one of the neighbors came up, 
and said she saw Eose dragged away by a tall man. 
She gave me a description of him, and it corresponds 
exactly to the description of Mr. Martin. I am 
afraid, Rufus, that he has carried our dear little Rose 
away. What shall we do ? " 

"I'll have her back," said Rufus, energetically. 
" He's got her now ; but he shan't keep her. But 
I'm afraid," he added, sorrowfully, " she'll be ill- 
treated before I can recover her, poor Rose ! " 





We return to Eose, who found herself very unwill- 
ingly once more in the custody of her stepfather. 

" Go out and play in the back yard with Fanny," 
said Mrs. Waters. " You'll have a nice time to- 
gether, and be good friends in less than no time." 

Rose followed Fanny slowly into the back yard ; 
but she had very little hope of a good time. She 
was too full of sorrowful thoughts for that. As she 
looked back, a moment after going into the yard, she 
saw Mr. Martin shaking his fist at her from the back 
window, and this she understood very well was a 
sign of the treatment which she had to expect. 

The back yard was not a very pleasant place. It 
was very small to begin with, and the little space 
was littered with broken bottles and rubbish of vari- 
ous kinds. In one corner was a cistern nearly full of 
water, which had been standing long enough to be 
come turbid. 


"What shall we do?" asked Fanny. 

" I don't know," said Rose, without much interest 

" I'll tell you," said Fanny, " we'll take a piece of 
wood, and sail it in the cistern. We can make be 
lieve it's a ship." 

" You can do it, " said Eose. 

" Won't you play too ? " 

" I don't feel much like playing.'* 

"Why don't you?" asked Fanny, curiously. 

" I wish I was back in New York." * 

" Who were you with ? " 

" With Eufie.'* 

"Who's he?" 

" My brother." 

" Is he a nice boy?" 

"Yes, he's the nicest boy that ever lived," said 
Rose, positively. 

" Your father says he's a bad boy," 

" He isn't my father." 

" Isn't your father ? " 

" No, he's only my stepfather." 

Rose was about to say something against Mr. 
Martin ; but it occurred to her that if it came to the 


ears of the lattei', she might fare the worse for it, 
and accordingly she stopped short. 

Fanny picked up a stick, and began to sail it about 
in the cistern. After a while Rose went up, and 
looked on rather listlessly. At length Fanny got 
tired of this amusement, and began to look around 
for something better to do. In the corner of the 
yard she spied the cat, who was lying down in a lazy 
attitude, purring contentedly as she dozed. 

"I know what I'll do," she said; "I'll have some 
fun with puss." 

She lifted the sleepy cat, and conveyed her 
straightway to the cistern. This attracted the atten- 
tion of Rose, who exclaimed, "What are you going 
to do?" 

" I am going to see puss swim," said the mis- 
chievous girl. 

Now Rose had a tender heart, and could not bear 
to see an animal abused. It always aroused all the 
chivalry in her nature, and her indignation in the 
present case overcame not only her timidity, but the 
depression she had felt at the separation from her 


" You shan't do it," she said, energetically. 

" Mind your business ! " said Fanny, defiantly. 
*'It's my cat, and I'm going to put her into thft 

True to her declaration, she droj)ped the cat into 
the cistern. 

Rose waited for no more, but ran to the cistern, 
and, pushing Fanny forcibly away, seized the cat by 
her neck, and pulled her out. Puss, on being res- 
cued, immediately took to her heels, and soon was 
out of harm's way. 

"What did you do that for?" exclaimed Fanny, 
flaming with rage. 

" You had no right to put the cat in the water," 
retorted Rose, intrepidly. 

" I'll put you in the water," said Fanny. " I wish 
3'ou were drowned." 

" You're a bad girl," said Rose. 

" I won't play with you." 

" I don't want you to. I don't care about playing 
•-vith a girl that behaves so." ' 

" I behave as well as you do, anj'way." 

" I don't want to talk to you any more." 


This seemed to exasperate Fanny, Avho, overcome 
by her feelings, flew at Rose, and scratched her in 
the face. Rose was very peaceably inclined, but she 
did not care about submitting to such treatment. 
She therefore seized Fanny by the hands and held 
them. Unable to get away, Fanny screamed at the 
top of her voice. This brought her mother to the 

" What's going on here?" she asked, in a voice of 

" She's fighting me," said Fanny. " Take her 

"Let go my child at once, you wicked girl ! " said 
Mrs. Waters, whose sympathies were at once enlisted 
on the side of her child. 
• " Then she mustn't scratch me," said Rose. 

" What did you scratch her for, Fanny?" 

" She's been plaguing me." 

" How did she plague you ? " 

" I was playing with puss, and she came and took 
the cat away, and pushed me." 

"You are a bad, quarrelsome girl," said Mrs. Wa 
teis, addressing Rose, "and I'm sorry I told yourfii 


ther you might come here. He told me you were bad ; 
but I didn't think you would show out so quick. If 
you .were my girl, I'd give you a good whipping. 
As it is, I shall inform your father of your conduct, 
as soon as he gets home, and I have no doubt he 
will punish you." 

" I only tried to prevent Fanny from drowning the 
cat," said Eose. " She threw her into the water, 
and I took her out." 

" That's a likely story. I don't believe it. Is it 
true, Fanny ? " 

" No, it isn't," said Fanny, whose regard for truth 
was not very strong. 

" So I supposed. You have not only ill-treated 
my girl, but you have told a wrong story besides. 
Fanny, come in, and I will give you a piece of cake." 

" You won't give her any, will you, ma? " 

" No, she don't deserve any." 

With a look of triumph Fanny went into the house, 
leaving poor Eose to meditate in sorrow upon this 
new phase of injustice and unbappiness. It seemed 
as if everybody was conspiring to injure and ill-treat 


" I wish Rufie were here," she said, " so that he 
might take me away." 

Then came to her mind the threat of her step- 
father, and she shuddered at the idea of Rufas 
being killed. From what she knew of Mr. Martin, 
she didn't think it very improbable that he would 
carry out his threat. 

After a while she was called to dinner, but she had 
very little appetite. 

"So you're sullen, are you, miss?" said Mrs. 
Waters. " You're a bad girl, and if I were your 
father, I'd give you a lesson. So you won't eat ! " 

"I am not hungrj'^," said Rose. 

" I understand very well what that means. How- 
ever, if you don't want to eat, I won't make 3'ou. 
You'll be hungry enough by and by, I guess." 

The afternoon passed very dismally to poor Rose. 
Fanny was forbidden by her mother to play with her, 
though this Rose "didn't feel at all as a privation. 
She was glad to be free from the company of the 
little girl whom she had begun to dislike, and spent 
her time in brooding over her sorrowful fate. She 
sat by the window, and looked at the people passing 


by, but she took little interest in the sight, and was 
in that unhappy state when the future seems to con- 
tain nothing pleasant. 

At length Mr. Martin came home. His nose was 
as radiant as ever, and there was little doubt that he 
had celebrated his capture in the manner most agree- 
able to him. 

*' So you're here, are you? " he said. " I thought 
you wouldn't run away after what I told you. It'll 
be a bad day for you and your rascal of a brother if 
you do. What have you been doing?" 

" Sitting by the window." 

" Where's the other little girl? Why don't you go 
and play with her, instead of moping here ? " 

" I don't like her," said Rose. 

" 'Pears to me you're mighty particular about your 
company," said Martin. " Maybe she don't like you 
any better." 

To this Rose didn't reply ; but Mrs. Waters, who 
just then chanced to enter the room, did. 

" Your little girl abused my Fanny," she said ; 
" and I had to forbid them playing together. I found 
them fighting together out in the back yard." 


" It wasn't my fault," said Rose. 

" Don't tell me that," said Martin. •' I krfow you 
of old, miss. You're a troublesome lot, you and your 
brother ; but now I've got you back again, I mean to 
tame j'ou ; see if I don't." 

" I hope you will," said Mrs. Waters ; " my Fanny 
is a very sweet-dispositioned child, just like what I 
was at her age ; and she never gets into no trouble 
with nobody, unless they begin to pick on her, and 
then she can't be expected to stand still, and be 

" Of course not," said Martin. 

"Your little girl attacked her, and tried to stop 
her playing with the cat." 

"What did you do that for, miss?" said Mr. Mar- 
tin, menacingly. 

" She threw the cat into the cistern," said Rose ; 
" and I was afraid she would drown." 

" What business was it of yours? It wasn't j^our 
cat, was it?" 


" It was my daughter's cat," said Mrs. Waters ; 
" but she tells me she didn't throw her into the cis- 


tern. It's my belief that your little girl did it her- 

" Just as likely as not,"- said Martin, with a hic- 
cough. " Hark you, miss," he continued, steadying 
himself by the table on which he rested his hand, for 
his head was not altogether steady, " I've got some- 
thing to say to you, and you'd better mind ■ what I 
say. Do you hear?" 

Rose didn't answer. 

" Do you hear, I say ? " he demanded, in a louder 
tone, frowning at the child. 

" Yes." 

" You'd better, then, just attend to your own busi- 
ness, for you'll find it best for yourself. You've 
begun to cut up your shines pretty early. But you 
don't do it while I'm here. What are you snivelling 
about ? " — for Rose, unable to repress her sorrow, 
began to sob. " What are you snivelling about, I 

" I want to go back, and live with Rufie and Miss 
Manning," said Rose. " Oh, do let me go ! " 

"That's a pretty, cool request," said Martin. 


" After I've been so long hunting you up, you expect 
me to let you go as soon as I've got you. I don't 
mean to let you go back to Rufie," he said, mimick- 
ing the little girl's tone, — "not if I know it. Be- 
sides," he added, with a sudden thought, " I couldn't 
do it very well if I wanted to. Do you know where 
3' our precious brother is ? " 

" Where?" asked Eose, in alarm. 

" Over to Blackwell's Island. He was took np this 
morning for stealing." 

" I don't believe it," said Eose, indignantly. " I 
know he wouldn't steal." 

" Oh, well, have it your own way, then. Perhaps 
you know better than I do. Only I'm glad I'm not 
where he is." 

Of course this story was all a fabrication, invented 
to tease poor Eose. Though the little girl didn't 
believe it, she feared that Eufus might have got into 
some trouble, — some innocent persons are sometimes 
unjustly suspected, — and the bare possibility of such 
a thing was sufficient to make her feel unhappy. Poor 
child ! But yesterday she had been full of innocent 


joy and happiness, and now everything seemed dark 
and sorrowful. When should she see Eufle again? 
That was the anxious thought that kept her awake 
half the night. 

190 ROVGR AND JlEADl ; 07?, 



If Rose passed an unhappy afternoon and evening 
at the ne"w home in Brooklyn, her brother was 
scarcely less unhappy in his old home in New York. 
lie loved his little sister devotedly, and the thouglit 
that she might be receiving ill-treatment troubled 
him exceedingly. But there was this difference be- 
tween them-: Rose was timid, and saw no other way 
but to endure whatever hardships her lot imposed 
upon her. Rough and Ready, on the other hand, 
was bold and enterprising, and not easily discour- 
aged. His first thought, therefore, was to get his 
sister back again. He had never been afraid of his 
stepfather for himself, only for his mother, while she 
lived, and afterwards for his little sister. In the 
present case, he knew that Martin was irritated at 
his withdrawing the little girl from hiin, and feared 
that she would fare the worse now on this account. 


He spent the evening with Miss Manning, who was 
scarcely less troubled than himself at the loss of 
Rose. The lonely seamstress had found a great sol- 
ace and comfort in the society of the little girl, and 
her heart had been drawn to her. She missed her 
sweet face, and the thousand questions which Ebse 
was in the habit of asking as they sat together 
through the long day, which didn't seem half so long 
now as formerly, when she was alone. 

"When Eufus entered the little room, the first ob- 
ject his eyes rested upon was the little reading-book 
from which Eose had been in the habit of getting her 
daily lessons. " When will she read in it again?" 
he thought, with a pang. 

" She was getting along so well in her reading," 
said Miss Manning, who divined his thoughts. " It's 
such a pity she should be taken away just at this 

" I'll have her back, Miss Manning, you may de- 
pend upon it," said Eufus, energetically. " If she's 
anywhere in the city I'll find her." 

" The city is a large place, Eufus," said the seam- 
stress, a little despondently. 


" That's true, but I shan't have to look all over it. 
Mr. Martin isn't very likely to be found in Fifth Av- 
enue, unless he's better off than he used to be. He's 
somewhere in the lower part of the city, on the east 
side, and that's where I'll look. 'Twouldn't be much 
use lookin' over the arrivals at the Astor House, or 
St. Nicholas." 

" That's true," said Miss Manning, smiling faintly. 

There was reason in what the newsboy said ; but, as 
we know, he was mistaken in one point, — Mr. Martin 
was not in the lower part of the city, on the east side, 
but in Brooklyn, but it was only the accident of his 
having found work there, which had caused him to 
remove across the river. 

"Where shall you look first?" asked Miss Man- 

" I shall go to Leonard Street, where we used to 

" Do you think your stepfather lives there now?" 

" No ; but perhaps I can find out there where he 
does live." 

Eufus went round to the Lodging House at the 
usual time. On getting up in the morning, instead 


of going to the paper offices as usual, he went round 
to Leonard Street. His anxiety to gain, if possible, 
some tidings about Rose would not permit him to 
delay unnecessarily. 

Just in front of his old home he saw a slatternly 
looking woman, one of the inmates of the tenement 
house. She recognized the newsboy at once. 

"Where did you come from?" she asked. "I 
haven't seen you for a long time." 

•" No, I'm living in another place now. Have you 
Been anything of Mr. Martin, lately?" 

" Aint you living with him now? " 

" No, I've left him. I suppose he isn't in the old 

" No, he went away some weeks ago. The agent 
was awful mad because he lost his rent." 

" Then he hasn't been back since ? " 

"I haven't seen him. Maybe some of the rest in 
the house may know where he is. Are you going to 
live with him again ? " 

" No," said the newsboy ; "I'd rather take care of 


"And how's that little sister of yours?" 

194 iwuGH AND jieady; on, 

" He's carried her off. That's ^vll3' I'm tryiu' to find 
him. If it wasn't for that I wouUlu't trouble myself." 

" You don't say so ? Well, that's a pity. He isn't 
fit to take care of her. I hope you'll find her." . 

"Thank you, Mrs. Simpson. I guess I'll go up- 
stairs and ask some of the rest." 

Rough and Ready ascended the stairs, and called 
upon some of his old acquaintances, with inquiries of 
a similar character. But he got no information 
likely to be of service to him. Martin had not been 
seen near his old lodgings since the day when he 
had disappeared, leaving his rent unpaid. 

"Where shall I ge next''"' thought the newsboy, 

This was a question more easily asked than an- 
swered. He realized that to seek for Rose in the 
great city, among many thousands of houses, was 
something like seeking a needle in a haystack. 

" I'll go and get my papers," he decided, " and, 
while I am selling them, perhaps I may think of 
where to go next. It'll be a hard job ; but I'm bound 
to find Rose if she's in the city." 

That she was in the city he did not entertain a 


doubt. Otherwise, he might have felt less sanguine 
of ultimate success. 

He obtained his usual supply of papers, and going 
to his wonted stand began to ply his trade. 

" You're late this morning, aint you?" asked Ben 
Gibson, a boot-black, who generall^?^ stood at the cor- 
ner of Nassau Street and Printing-House Square. 
" Overslept yourself, didn't you? " 

"• No," said the newsboy ; " but I had an errand to 
do before I began." 

"Get paid for it?" 

" Not unless I pay myself. It was an errand of 
my own." 

" I can't afford to work for myself," said Ben. " A 
chap asked me, yesterday, why I didn't black my own 
shoes. I axed him who was to pay me for doin' it. 
Blackin' costs money, and I can't afford to york for 

Ben^ shoes certainly looked as if no blacking had 
ever been permitted to soil their virgin purity. Indeed, 
it is rather a remarkable circumstance that though 
the boot-blacks generally have at least three-fourths 
of their time unoccupied, and sometimes remain idle 


for hours at a time, it never occurs to them (so far, 
at least, as the writer's observation extends) to use 
a little of their time and blacliing in improving the 
condition of their own shoes or boots, when Vaay liap- 
pen to have any. "Whether this is owing to a spirit 
of economy, or to the same cause which hinders a phy- 
sician from swallowing his own pills, it is not easy to 
say. The newsboy's, on the contrary', occasionally 
indulge" in the luxury of clean shoes. 

" Your shoes don't look as if they'd been blacked 
lately," said Eough and Ready. 

"• No more they haven't. They can't stand such 
rough treatment. It would be too much for their del- 
icate constitutions." 

This was not improbable, since the shoes in ques- 
tion appeared to be on their last legs, if such an ex- 
pression may be allowed. 

" 1 like to have my shoes look neat," said Rufus. 

"Don't you want a shine?" asked Ben, with a 
professional air. 

" Can't afford it. Maybe I will, though, if you'll 

"As how?" 


" Shine m}'' shoes, find I'll give j^-ou a ' Sun.' *' 

" That aint but two cents," said Ben, dubiously. 

" I know that ; but you oughtn't to charge me more 
than the wholesale price." 

" Anything in the ' Sun ' this mornin' ? " 

•' Full account of a great murder out in Buffalo," 
said the newsboy, in his professional tone. 

" Well, I don't know but I'll do it," said Ben. 
"Only if a gent comes along what grants a shine, 
you must let me off long enough to do the job 
I'll finish yours afterwards." 

" All right." 

Ben got out his brush, and, getting on^his knees, 
began operations. 

"'Herald,' 'Times,' 'Tribune,' 'World!'" the 
newsboy continued to cry. 

" Seems to me, young man, you're rather partic- 
ular about your appearance for a newsboy," said a 
gentleman, who came up just as Ben was giving 
the finishing touch to the first shoe. 

" Oh," said Ben, speaking for his customer, " he 
only sells papers for amoosement. He's a young 


chap of fortune, and is first cousin to the King of 
Mulberry Street. 

"Indeed! I think I must purchase a paper then. 
You may give me the ' Herald.' " 

" Here it is, sir." 

"Do you also black boots for amusement?" 
addressing Ben. 

" Well," said Ben, " it may be a very amoosin' 
occupation for some, but I find it rather wearin' to 
the knees of my pantaloons. It sort of unfits me 
for genteel society." 

" Then why don't you select some other busi- 

" 'Cause I can't make up my mind whether I'd 
rather be a lawyer or a banker. "While I'm decidin' 
I may as weU black boots." 

" You're an original, I see." 

" Thank you for the compliment ; " and Ben rose 
from his knees, having made the newsboy's second 
shoe shine like a mirror. " Now, mister, if you'd 
like to have your boots shined up by a gentleman in 
reduced circumstances, I'm ready for the job." 


" Well, perhaps I may as well. So you're in 
reduced circumstances, my lad?" 

" Yes, sir ; my aristocratic relatives have disowned 
me since I took to blackin' boots, just like they did 
Ferdinand Montressor, in the great play at the Old 
Bowery, when he lost bis fortun' and went to tend- 
ing bar for a livin'." * 

" I suppose Ferdinand came out right in the end, 
didn't he?'' 

" Yes, sir ; owing to the death of fifteen of his 
nearest relations, who got blown up in a steamboat 
explosion, he became the owner of Montressor 
Castle, and a big pile of money besides, and lived 
happy forever after." 

" Well, m}^ lad, perhaps you'll be lucky too," 

" Maybe you're meanin' to give me a quarter for 
blackin' your boots," said Ben, shrewdly. 

" No, I wasn't intending to do it ; but, as you're a 
gentleman in reduced circumstances, I don't know 
but I will." 

" Thank you, sir," said Ben, pocketing the money 
"vpith satisfaction. " Any time you want your boots 


blacked, just call on me, and I'll give you the bulli 
est shine you ever saw." 

"All right, good-morning! When you get into 
your castle, I'll come and see you." 

" Thank you, sir. I hope you'll live long enough 
to do it." 

" That'? wishing me a long life, I take it," said the 
gentleman, smiling. 

" You're in luck, Ben," said the newsboy. 

" That's so. He's what I call a gentleman." 

" Lucky for you he isn't in reduced circumstances 
like me. Here's your ' Sun.' "When I get rich I'll 
pay 5^ou better." 

Ben began to spell out the news in the ' Sun,' with 
some diflJculty, for his education was limited, and 
Eufus continued to cry his papers. 

At the end of half an hour, happening to have his 
face turned towards the corner of Nassau Street, he 
made a sudden start as he saw the familiar figure ot 
Martin, his stepfather, just turning into the Square. 




It has already been stated that James Martin's 
motive in recovering Rose was not a feeling of 
affection for her, for this he had never had, but 
rather a desire to thwart Rufus in his plans. The 
newsboy's refusal to work for his support had 
incensed his stepfather, and Martin was a man who 
was willing to take considerable trouble to gratify 
his spite. 

It was quite in accordance with this disposition of 
his, that, after recovering Rose in the manner we 
have seen, he was not content, until he had seen her 
brother, and exulted over him. On the day succeed- 
ing, therefore, instead of going to work, he came 
over to New York, for the express purpose of wit- 
nessing our hero's grief and chagrin at the loss of 
his sister. He knew very well where to find him. 

Rough and Ready surveyed the approach of his 


stepfather with mingled anger and anxiety. He it 
was that held in his power the one whom the news- 
boy loved best. Rufus guessed his motive in seeking 
him now, and, linowing that he intended to speak to 
him, awaited his address in silence. 

"Well, Rufus," said Mr. Martin, with a malicious 
grin, " how are you this morning?" 

" I am well," said the newsboy, shortly''. 

" I am glad to hear it," said Martin ; " I'd ought to 
feel glad of it, you've been such a dootiful son." 

" I am not your son," said Rough and Ready, in a 
tone which indicated that he was very glad that no 
such relationship existed between them. 

" That's lucky for me," said Martin ; " I wouldn't 
own such a young cub. When I have a son, I hope 
he'll be more dootiful, and treat me with more grati- 

"What should I be grateful for ?" demanded the 
newsboy, quickly. 

" Didn't I take care of you, and give you victuals 
and clothes for years ? " 

"Not that I know of," said Rufus, coolly. " I've 


had to support myself, and help support 3^ou,ever 
since we came to New York." 

"So you complain of having to work, do you? 
'Cause I was a poor man, and couldn't support you 
in idleness, you think you're ill used." 

"I never complained of having to work. I am 
willing to work hard for myself — and Rose." 

"How is Rose now? I hope she is well," said 
Martin, with a smile of triumph. 

" That's what I'd like to have you tell me," said 
Rufus, looking steadily at Martin. " Where have 
you carried my sister ? " 

"What should I know of your sister? " said Mar- 
tin. " The last I knew, you kidnapped her from my 
care and protection." 

" Your care and protection ! " repeated Rough and 
Ready, disdainfully. " What care did you ever take 
of her ? You did nothing for her support, but came 
home drunk about every day. You couldn't take 
care of yourself, much less any one else." 

" Do you want a licking?" asked Martin, angrily, 
approaching a little nearer. 

204 ROUGH AND UEADY; 07?, 

Rough and Ready didn't budge an inch, for he was 
not in the least afraid of his stepfather. 

" I wouldn't advise you to try it, Mr. Martin," he 
said, composedly. " I am able to take care of my- 

" Are 5''ou? I am happy to hear it," sneered Mar- 
tin, repressing his anger, as he thought that, after all, 
he had it in his power to punish Rufus more effect- 
ually and safely through his sister than by any 
attempt at present violence. " I'm happy to hear it, 
for I've relieved you of any other care. I will take 
care of Rose now." 

" Where is she ? " asked Rufus, anxiously. 

" She's safe," said Martin. 

" Is that all you are going to tell me?" 

" It's all you need to know. Only, if you're very 
anxious to contribute to your sister's support, you 
can hand me the money, and it shall go for her 

As he looked at Martin with his air of insolent 
triumph, the newsboy felt that he hated him. It was 
not a Christian feeling, but it was a very natural 
one. This was the man- who had made his mother's 


life a wretched one, and hastened her death ; who in 
this and other ways had brought grief and trouble 
upon Rose and himself, and who now seemed deter- 
niined to continue his persecutions, out of a spirit of 
miserable spite and hatred. He would hardly have 
been able to control his temper, but he knew that 
Martin would probably wreak vengeance upon his 
sister for anything he might do to provoke him, and 
he resolved, poor as the chance was, to try and see 
if he could not conciliate him, and induce him, if pos- 
sible, to give up Rose again to his own care. 

" Mr. Martin," he said, " Rose will only be a 
trouble and expense to you. Why won't you bring 
her back? You don't care for her; but she is my 
sister, and I will willingly work for her support." 

"Rose must stay with me," said Martin. "If 
you're so anxious to pay her expenses, you can pay 

" I want her to live with me." 

" Sorry I couldn't accommodate you," said Martin ; 
" but your influence was bad on her. I can't allow 
you to be together. She's been growing a great deal 
wus since she was with me. I carried her yesterday 


to a nice, respectable boarding-place, and the fust 
thing she did was to get to fighting with another 
little gal in the house." 

"Where was that?" 

" Maybe you'd like to have me tell you." 

" Rose is a very sweet, peaceable little girl, and if 
she got into trouble, the other girl was to blame." 

"The other girl's a little angel, so her mother 
says, and she ought to know. Rose has got a sullen, 
bad temper ; but I'll break her of it, see if I don't." 

" If 3^ou ill-treat my sister, it'll be the worse for 
you," said Rough and Ready, hotly. 

" Hoity-toity, I guess I can punish my child, if I 
see fit, without asking your leave." 

" She isn't your child." 

" I've got her in my charge, and I mean to keep 

This was unfortunately true, and Rufus chafed in- 
wardly that it was so. To think that his darling 
little Rose should be in the power of such a coarse 
brute was enough to fill him with anger and despair. 
But what could he do ? Was there any way in which 
he could get her back? If he only knew where she 


was ! But of this he was entirely ignorant. Indig- 
nant as he was, he must use conciliating means as 
long as there was any chance that these would avail 
anything. He thought of the money he had laid 
aside, and it occurred to him that Mr. Martin might 
be accessible to a bribe. He knew that his step- 
father was very poorly provided with monej^, unless 
he had greatly improved in his habits upon his former 
mode of life. At all events, he could but fail, and he 
determined to make the attempt. 

"Mr. Martin," he said, " if you'll bring my sister 
back, and agree not to take her away from me again, 
I'll give you ten dollars." 

"Have you got so much money?" asked Martin, 

" Yes." 

"Where did you get it?" 

" I earned it." 

" Have you got any more ? " 

"A little." 

The newsboy did not think it expedient to let his 
stepfather know precisely how much he had, for he 
knew his demands would rise with the knowledge. 

208 HOUGH AND ready; oij, 

" How much more ? " persisted Martin. 

" I can't exactly'' say." 

" Have you got fifteen dollars? " 

" I will tr}^ to raise it, if yo\x will bring back my 

Martin hesitated. Fifteen dollars was not to be 
despised. Thi§ sum would enable him to live in idle- 
ness for a time. . Besides he would be relieved of the 
expenses of Rose, and this would amount in time to 
considerable. As he did not pretend to feel any' 
attachment to his stepdaughter, and didn't expect to 
receive any pleasure or comfort from her society, it 
certainly seemed to be a desirable arrangement! But, 
on the other hand, it was pleasant to a man like Mar- 
tin to feel that he had some one in his power over 
whom he could exercise control, and upon whom he 
might expend his anger. Besides, he would keep 
Eufus in a constant state of trouble and anxiety, and 
this, too, was something. Still he did not like to 
give up wholly the chance of gaining the fifteen 
dollars. After a little hesitation, he said, " Have 
you got the money with you?" 



" Have you any of it with you ? " 

" Only a dollar or two." 

" That won't do." 

" Why do you ask? " 

" Because I should want part or the whole of it in 

" I shouldn't be willing to pay you in advance," 
gaid the newsboy, whose confidence in his stepfather's 
integrity was by no means large. 

"Why not?" 

"I'll pay you when you bring Rose. That's fair 

" Perhaps you wouldn't have the money." 

" Then you could carry her back again." 

" And have all my trouble for nothing ! " 

" You won't have all your trouble for nothing. I 
want Rose back, and I shall be sure to have the 
money with me." 

Mr. Martin reflected a moment. He knew that he 

could trust the newsboy's word. Much as he disliked 

him, he knew that if he made a promise he would 

keep it, if there was a possibility of his doing so. 

Fifteen dollars was quite a sum to him, for it was a 


long time since lie had had so much, and such were 
his shiftless habits, that it would probably be a long 
time before he would have it, especially if he had to 
pay for the board of Rose. Again, it occurred to him 
that if he should surrender Rose, and receive the 
money, he might steal her again, and thus lose noth- 
ing. But then it was probable that Rufus would 
guard against this by removing to a different quarter 
of the city, and not permitting Rose to go out unac- 

So there was a little conflict in his mind, and 
finally he came to this decision. He would not sur- 
render Rose quite yet. He wanted to torment both 
her and her brother a little longer. There was time 
enough to make the arrangement a week hence. Per- 
haps by that time the newsboy would be ready to 
increase his offer. 

"Well," said Rough and Ready, "what do you 

" I'll think about it." 

" You'd better decide now." 

" No, I don't feel like it. Do you think I'm ready 
to give up my little daughter's society, after having 


Ler with me only a day ? " and he smiled in a way 
that provoked Eufus, as he knew it would. 

" Will you bring her to-morrow?" asked the news- 
boy, who felt that he must hold his anger in check. 

*' Maybe I'll bring her in the course of a week ; that 
is, if she behaves herself. I must break her of some 
of her faults. She needs trainin'." 

" She's a good little girl." • 

" She's got to be better before t give her back. 
Hope you won't fret about her ; " and Martin walked 
away, with a half laugh, as he saw the trouble which 
the newsboy couldn't help showing in his face. 

A sudden idea came to Rufus. 

"Ben," he said, beckoning to Ben Gibson, who 
had just got through with a job, "do you see that 
man ? " ' 

" The one you've been talking with?" 

" Yes." 

" Well, what about him?" 

" Til give you a dollar if you'll follow him, and 
find out where he lives. Of course he mustn't know 
that you are following him." 

"Maybe he isn't going home." 


" Never mind. Follow him if it takes you all day, 
and you shall have the dollar." 

" Maybe I'll get off the track." 

" You're too sharp for that. You see, Ben, he's 
carried off my little sister, and I want to find out 
where he has put her. Just find out for me Where 
she is, and we'll carry her off from him." 

" That'll be bully fun," said Ben. " I'm your man. 
Just take care of my box, and I'll see what I can do." 

Mr. Martin had turned down Spruce Street. He 
kept on his way, not suspecting that there was some 
one on his track. 




Leaving Ben Gibson on the track of Mi*. Martin, 
we must return to Rose, and inquire how she fared in 
her new home at Brooklyn. Mrs. Waters had already 
taken a strong prejudice against her, on account of 
the misrepresentations of her daughter Fanny. If 
Fanny was an angel, as her mother represented, then 
angels must be very disagreeable people to live with. 
The little girl was rude, selfish, and had a violent 
temper. Had Mr. Martin stood by Rose, her treat- 
ment would have been much better, for policy would 
have led Mrs. Waters to treat her with distinguished 
consideration ; but as parental fondness was not a 
weakness of her stepfather, the boarding-house 
keeper felt under no restraint. 

" What shall I do if your little girl behaves badly, 
Mr. Martin? " said Mrs. Waters, as he was about to 
leave the house in the morning;. 


" Punish her, ma'am. You needn't feel no delicacy 
about it. I'll stand by you. She's a bad, trouble- 
some girl, and a good whipping every day is just 
what she needs. Do you hear that, miss ? " 

Rose did not answer, but her lip quivered a little. 
It seemed hard to the little girl, fresh from the atmos- 
phere of love by which she had been surrounded in 
her recent home, to be treated with such injustice and 

" Why don't you answer, miss ? " roared James 
Martin, savagely. " Didn't you hear what I said?" 

"Yes," said Rose. 

" Mind you remember it, then. If you don't be- 
have yourself, Mrs. Waters has my full permission to 
punish you, and if she don't punish you enough, I'll 
give you a little extra when I get home. I shall ask 
her to report to me about you. Do you hear? " 

" Yea/' 

" Yes ! Where's yonv manners ? Say ' Yes, sir.' " 

« Yes, sir." 

" Mind you remember then. And there's one thing 
more. Don't you go to run away. If you do, -it'll 
be the worse for your brother." 


With this parting threat he went out of the house. 

"Now, children," said Mrs. Waters, " go out and 
play. I'm up to my elbows in work, and I can't have 
you in the way." 

"Where shall we go?" asked Rose. 

" Out in the back yard." 

" I don't want to go out in the back yard," said 
Fanny ; " there aint- anything to do there." 

" Well, go out into the street then, if you want 

"Yes, I'd rather go there." 

Rose followed Fanny into the street in rather a 
listless manner, for she did not expect much enjoy- 

" Now, what shall we do? " asked Fanny. 

" I don't know, I'm sure," said Rose. 

" I know where there's a candy-shop." 

"Do you?" 

" Yes ; just at the corner. Do you like candy?" 

" Yes, pretty well." 

"You haven't got any money, have you?" said 
Fanny, insinuatingly. 

" No, I haven't," answered Rose. 

216 ROUGH AND headt; or, 

" I wish you had. I like candy, but mother won't 
give me any money to buy an}'. She's real mean." 

"Do you call your mother mean?" said Rose, 
rather shocked. 

" Yes, she might give me a penny. Oh, there's a 
hand-organ. Come, let's go and hear it." 

An Italian, with a hand-organ, had taken his sta- 
tion before a house in the next block. There was a 
half-grown girl with a tambourine in his company, 
and, best of all, a monkey was perched on the per- 
former's shoulder, with his tail curled up in a ring, 
and his head covered with a red cap, and his sharp 
little eyes roving from one to another of the motley 
group drawn around the organ, keenly watching for 
the stray pennies which were bestowed as much for 
the sake of seeing the monkey pick them up, as a 
compensation for the music, which was of rather an 
inferior order, even for a hand-organ. 

" Let's go and hear the organ," repeated Fanny. 

To this proposal Eose made no objection. Chil- 
dren are not critical in music, and the tunes which 
issued from the wheezy organ had their attraction for 
her. The monkey was equally attractive, with his 


queer, brown face, and Rose was yevy willing to go 
nearer with her companion. 

"Aint he a funny monkey?" said Fanny. "He 
took off his hat to me. I wish I had a penny to 
throw to him, though I don't think I'd give it to him. 
I'd rather spend it for candy," she added, after a lit- 
tle reflection. 

Here the organ struck up " Old Dog Tray," that 
veteran melody, which celebrates, in rather doleful 
measure, the fidelity and kindness of its canine hero. 
But the small crowd of listeners were not apprecia 
tive, as in response to the strains only a solitary 
penny was forthcoming, and this was thrown by a 
butcher's boy, who chanced to be passing. The 
Italian, concluding probably that he was not likely 
to realize a fortune in that locality, shouldered his 
hand-organ, and moved up the street. 

" Let's go after him," said Fanny. 

" Shall 3^ou know the way back? " said Rose. 

" Yes, I know well enough," said Fanny, care- 

Rose accordingly followed her without hesitation, 
and when the Italian again stopped, the two little 


girls made a part of his audience. After g'^iug 
through his series of tunes, and gathering a sj^^all 
stock of pennies, the organ-grinder again started on 
his travels. Rose and Fanny, having no bett-^r 
amusement before them, still kept his company, anJ 
this continued for an hour or two. 

By this time they had unconsciously got a consid 
erable distance from home. There is no knowing 
how far they would have gone, had not the tambou 
riue player detected Fanny in picking up a penny 
which had been thrown for the musicians. Fanny, 
supposing that she was not observed, slipped it into 
her pocket slily, intending to spend it for candy on 
her way home. But she was considerably alarmed 
when the girl, her dark face full of indignation, ran 
forward, and, seizing her by the arm, shook her, 
uttering the while an incoherent medley of Italian 
and English. 

" What's the row ? What has the little girl done ? " 
asked a man in the group. 

" She one tief. She took penny, and put in her 
pocket," said the Italian girl, continuing to shake 


Fanny protested with tears that she had not done 
it, but a boy near by testified that he had seen her 
do it. With shame and mortification, Fanny was 
obliged to produce the purloined penny, and give it 
to the monke}^, who, in spite of her intended dishon- 
esty, had the politeness to remove his hat, and make 
her a very ceremonious bow. 

"I should think you'd be ashamed, of yourselves," 
said a stout woman, addressing both little girls. 

" I didn't take the penny," said Rose, resenting 
the imputation ; " I wouldn't steal for anj^thing." 

" She wanted me to take it," said Fanny, mali- 
ciously, " so that I could buy some candy for her." 

" That's a story," said Rose, indignantly ; " I didn't 
know you meant to do it, till I saw you slip it into 
your pocket." 

"I've no doubt one's as bad as the other," said 
the woman, with commendable iupartiality. 
• " Go 'way," said the tambourine girl ; "you steal 
some more penny." 

" Come away, Fanny," said Rose ; " I'm ashamed 
to stay here any longer, and I should think you 
would be." 

220 ROVGJT ANv rwady; or. 

As circumstances made the neigliborhood of the 
musicians rather unpleasant, Fanny condescended to 
adopt the suggestion of her companion. 

" I guess I'll go home," she said. " I'm hungry, 
and ma'U give me some gingerbread. She won't 
give you any, for you're a bad girl." 

" What are you?" retorted Rose. 

" I'm a good girl." 

" I never heard of a good girl's stealing," said 

" If you say that again, I'll strike you," said Fanny, 
who was rather sensitive about the charge, particu- 
larly as it happened to be true. 

Rose was not fond of disputing, and made no. 
reply, but waited for "Fanny to show her the way 
home. But this Fanny was unable to do. She had 
followed the organ-grinder round so many corners 
that she had quite lost her reckoning, and had no 
idea where she was. She stood undecided, and 
looked helplessly around her. 

" I don't know where to go," she said. 

" Don't you know the way home?" asked Rose. 

" No," answered Fanny, almost ready to cry. 


Rose hardly knew whether to be glad or to be 
sorry. If she should be lost, and not find her way 
back to the boarding-house, there would be this com- 
fort at least, that she would be separated from Mr. 
Martin. Still she was not quite prepared to live in 
the streets, and didn't know how to go to work to 
find her brother. Besides, Mr. Martin had threatened 
to harm him in case she ran away. So, on the whole, 
she was rather in hopes that Fanny would remember 
the way. 

" We'd better go straight along," suggested Rose, 
" and perhaps we shall find your house." 

As Fanny had no better plan to propose, they de- 
termined to adopt this plan. Neither had taken any 
particular notice of the way by which they had come, 
and were therefore unable to recognize any land- 
marks. So, instead of nearing home, they were actu- 
ally getting farther and farther away from it, and 
there is no knowing where they would finally have 
brought up, if in turning a corner they had not found 
themselves all at once face to face with Mrs. Waters 
herself. It may be explained that the latter, after an 
hour, not hearing the voices of the children outside, 

222 nouQH AND ready; or, 

had become alarmed, and started in pursuit. She 
had already had a long and weary walk, and it was 
only by the merest chance that she caught sight of 
them. This long walk, with the anxiety which she 
had felt, had not improved her temper, but made her 
angry, so that she was eager to vent her indignation 
upon the two children. 

" What do you mean, you little plagues, by run 
niug away?" she asked, seizing each cliild roughly 
by the arm. " Here I've been rushing round the 
streets after you, neglecting my work, for a good 

" She wanted to go," said Fanny, pointing to 

"So she led you away, did she?" asked Mrs. 
Waters, giving Rose a rough shake. 

" Yes, she wanted me to go after an organ," said 
Fanny, seeing a way to screen herself at the expense 
of her companion, and like a mean little coward 
availing herself of it. 

" So this is another one of your tricks, raiss, la 
it?" demanded Mrs. Waters, angrily. 


" It isn't true," said Rose. " She asked me to 


" Oh, no doubt ; you can lie as fast as you can 
talk," said Mrs. Waters. " I thought all the while 
that Fanny was too good a girl to give her mother so 
much trouble. It was only to oblige you that she 
went off. That comes of having such a bad girl in 
the family. I shan't keep you long, for you'll be 
sure to spoil my Fanny, who was one of the best lit- 
tle girls in the neighborhood till you came to lead 
her into mischief. But I'll come up with you, miss, 
you may depend upon that. Your father told me I 
might punish you, and I mean to do it ; just wait till 
we get home, that's all." 

Here Mrs. Waters paused more from lack of 
breath, than because she had given full expression to 
her feelings. She relaxed her hold upon Fanny, but 
continued to grasp Ros'e roughly by the shoulder, 
dragging her rapidly along. 

Eose saw that it was of no use to defend herself. 
Mrs. Waters was determined to find her guilty, and 
would not believe any statement she might make. 


So she ran along to adapt herself to the pace of the 
angry woman beside her. 

They soon reached the house, and entered, Mrs. 
Waters pushing Rose before. 

"Now for your punishment," said Mrs. "Waters, 
grimly, " I'm going to lock you up down cellar." 

" Oh, don't," said Rose, terriiied. " I don't want to 
go down in the dark cellar ; " for, like most children, 
she had a dread of darkness. 

But Mrs. "Waters was inexorable. She opened the 
door of the cellar, and compelled the little girl to de- 
scend the dark staircase. Then she slampaed the 
door, and left her sobbing on the lowest step. 

Poor Rose ! She felt that she had indeed fallen 
among enemies. 




Ben Gibson was very willing to suspend blacking 
boots and follow in the triiutk of James Martin, 
partly because lie consideifcd it easier work, but 
partly also, because he wass glad to be of service to 
the newsboy. The fact -was that Bough and Ready 
was popular among the street boys He was brave 
and manly, rough with those who tried to impose 
upon him, but always ready to do a favor to a boy 
who needed it. Ben had not forgotten how two win- 
ters before, when he had been laid up wit-h a sickness 
brought on by exposure, Rufus had himself contrib- 
uted liberally to help him, and led other boys to fol- 
low his example, thus defraying his expenses until he 
got about again. A kind heart will make its posses- 
sor popular sooner than anything else, and it was 
this, together with his well-known prowess, whJoh 


made Kough and Ready not only popular, but 
admired in the circle to which he belonged. 

Ben followed James Martin down Spruce Street, 
keeping sufficiently in the background, so as not to 
excite the suspicious of the latter. 

" I wonder where he's goin'," thought Ben ; " I 
don't think I could follow him more'n a hundred 
miles without wantin' to rest. Anyhow I guess I 
can stand it as well as he can." 

Martin walked along in a leisurely manner. The 
fact was that he had made up his mind not to work 
that day, and therefore he felt in no particular hurr}'-. 
This was rather improvident on his part, since he 
had voluntarily assumed the extra expense of sup- 
porting Rose ; but then prudence and foresight were 
not his distinguishing traits. He had a vague idea 
that the world owed him a living, and that he would 
rub along somehow or other. This is a mischievous 
doctrine, and men who deserve to succeed never hold 
it. It is true, however, that the world is pretty sure 
to provide a living for those who are willing to work 
for it, but makes no promises t'o those who expect 
to be taken care of without any exertions of their 


own. The difference between the rich merchant and 
the ragged fellow who solicits his charity as he is 
stepping into his carriage, consists, frequently, not 
in natural ability, but in the fact that the one has 
used his ability as a stepping-stone to success, and 
the other has suffered his to become stagnant, through 
indolence, or dissipation. 

But we must come back to Mr. Martin. 

He walked down towards the East Kiver till he 
reached Water Street, then turning to the left, he 
brought up at a drinking-saloon, which he had vis- 
ited more than once on a similar errand. He found 
an old acquaintance who invited him to drink, — an 
invitation which he accepted promptly. 

Ben remained outside. 

"I thought he did business at some such place by 
the looks of his nose," soliloquized Ben. " "What 
shall I do while I'm waitin' for him ? " 

Looking around him, Ben saw two boys of about 
his own age pitching pennies. As this was a game 
with which long practice had made him familiar, he 
made overtures tow'ards joining them. 

" Let a feller in, will j^ou? " he said. 

228 ROUGn AND ready; or, 

" How much you got? " asked one of the boys, in 
a business-like way. 

" Ten cents," said Ben. " I lent old Vanderbilt 
most of my money day afore yesterday, to buy up a 
new railroad, and he haint forked over," 

Ben need not have apologized for his comparative 
poverty, as he proved to be the richest of the three. 
The game commenced, and continued for some time 
with various mutations of fortune ; but at the end of 
half an hour Ben found himself richer by two cents 
than when he had commenced. From time to time 
he cast a watchful glance at the saloon opposite, for 
he had no intention of suffering the interest of the 
game to divert him from the object of his expedition. 
At length he saw James Martin issue from the saloon, 
and prepared to follow him. 

"Are you going?" asked one of the boys with 
whom he had been playing. 

" Yes, I've got some important business on hand. 
Here's your money ; " and he threw down the two 
cents he had won. 

" You won it?" 

" What if I did ? I only played for amoosement, 


What's two cents to a gentleman of fortune, with a 
big manshun up town ? " 

" It's the Tombs, he manes," said one of his late 
opponents, laughing. 

" He can blow, he can," remarked the other. 

But Ben couldn't stop to continue the conversation, 
as James Martin had already' turned the corner of the 
street. It was observable that his gait already 
showed a slight unsteadiness, which he tried to rem- 
edy by walking with unusual erectness. The conse- 
quence of this was that he didn't keep fairly in view 
the occupants of the sidewalk, which led to his de- 
liberately walking into rather a stout female, who 
was approaching in the opposite direction. 

" Is it goin' to murther me ye are, you spalpeen ? " 
she exclaimed, wrathfully, as soon as she could col- 
lect her breath. " Don't you know better than to 
run into a dacent woman in that way ? " 

" It was you run into me," said Martin, steadjang 
himself with some difficulty after the collision. 

" Heai' him now," said the woman, looking about 
her to call attention to the calumny. 

230 Rouan and nEAvr; or, 

" I see how it is," said Martin ; " you're tirunk, 
ma'am, you can't walk straight." 

This led to a voluble outburst from the irate woman, 
to which Ben listened with evident enjoyment. 

" Am I drunk, boy ? " asked Martin, appealing to 
Ben, whom he for the first time noticed. 

" Of course you aint, gov'nor," said Ben. " You 
never did sich a thing in your life." 

"What do you know about it?" demanded the 
woman. " It's my belief you're drunk yourself." 

"Do you --know who this gentleman is?" asked 
Ben, passing over the personal charge. 

" No, I don't." 

" He's President of the Fifth Avenue Temperance 
Society," said Ben, impressively. " Pie's just been 
drinking the health of his feller-officers in a glass of 
something stiff, round in Water Street, that's all." 

The woman sniffed contemptuously, but, not deign- 
ing a reply, passed on. 

"Who are you?" asked Martin, turning to Ben. 
"You're a good feller." 

" That's so," said Ben. " That's what everybody 


" So'm I a good feller," said Martin, whose re- 
cent potations must have been of considerable 
strength, to judge from their effects. " You know 

" Of course I do," said Ben. " I've knowed yow 
from infancy." 

"Take a drink?" said Martin. 

"Not at present," said Ben. "My health don't 
require it this mornin'." 

"Where are you going?" 

"Well," said Ben, "I aint very particular. I'm 
a wealthy orphan, with nothin' to do. I'll walk along 
>vith you, if it's agreeable." 

I wish you would," said Martin ; " I aint feeling 
quite well this morning. I've got the headache." 

"I don't wonder at that," thought Ben. "I'll 
accompany you to your residence, if it aint too far 

" I live in Brooklyn," said Martin. 

" Oho ! " thought Ben. " Well, that information 
is worth something. Shall we go over Fulton Fer- 
ry?" he asked, aloud. 

" Yes," said Martin. 


"Take hold of my arm, and I'll support your 
totterin' steps," said Ben. 

Mr. Martin, who found locomotion in a straight 
line rather difficult on account of his headache, 
willingly availed himself of this obliging offer, 
and the two proceeded on their way to Fulton 

"Have you got much of a family?" inquired 
Ben, by way of being sociable. 

"I've ^ot a little girl," said Martin, " and a boy, 
but he's an impudent young rascal." 

"What's his name?" 

"Rufus. He sells newspapers in front of the 
'Times' office." 

" The boys call him Rough and Heady, don't 

"Yes. Do you know him?" asked Martin, a 
little suspiciously. "He aint a friend of yours, 
is he?" 

" I owe him a lickin'," said Ben, with a show of 

"So do I," said Martin. "He's an impudent 
young rascal." 


" So he is," chimed in Ben. " I'll tell you what 
I'd do, if I were you." 


" I'd disinherit him. Cut him off with a shil- 

"I mean to," said Martin, pleased to find sym- 
pathy in his dislike to his stepson. 

Probably the newsboy would not have suffered 
acute anguish, had he learned his stepfather's in- 
tention to disinherit him, as the well-known lines, 
" Who steals my purse, steals trash," might at al- 
most any time have been appropriately applied to 
Mr. Martin's purse, when he happened to carry 

Ben paid the toll at the ferry, and the two en- 
tered the boat together. . He conducted Mr. Martin 
to the Gentleman's Cabin, where he found him a 
seat in the corner. James Martin sank down, and 
closed his eyes in a drowsy fit, produced by the 
liquor he had drunk. 

Ben took a seat opposite him. 

"You're an interestin' object," soliloquized Ben, 
as he looked across the cabin at his companion. 


" It's a great blessin' to be an orphan, if a feller 
can't own a better father than that. However, I'll 
stick to him till I get him home. I wonder what 
he'd say if he knowed what I was goin' with him 
for.^ If things don't go contrary, I guess I'll get 
the little girl away from him afore long." 

"When the boat struck the Brooklyn pier, James 
Martin was asleep. 

• " There aint no hurry," thought Ben ; " I'll let 
him sleep a little while." 

After the boat had made three or four trips, 
Ben went across and shook Martin gently. 

The latter opened his eyes, and looked at him 

"What's the matter?" he said, thickly. 

"We've got to Brooklyn," said Ben. "If you 
want to go home, we'll have to go off the boat." 

James Martin rose mechanically, and, walking 
through the cabin, passed out upon the pier, and 
then through the gates. 

"Where'll we go now?" asked Ben. "Is it far 

"Yes, said Martin. "We'll take a horse-car." 


*' All right, gov'uor ; just tell us what one we 
want, and we'll jump aboard." 

Martin was sufficiently in his senses to be able 
to impart this information correctly. He made no 
objection to Ben's paying the fare for both, which 
the latter did, as a matter of policy, thinking that 
in his present friendly relations with Mr. Martin he 
was likely to obtain the information he desired, 
with considerably less difficulty than he anticipated. 
On the whole, Ben plumed himself on his success, 
and felt that as a detective he had done very 

Martin got out at the proper place, and Ben of 
course got out with him. 

"That's where I live," said Martin, pointing to the 
house. " Won't you go in? " 

" Thank you for the compliment," said Ben ; " but 
I've got some important business to attend to, and 
shall have to be goin'. How's your headache?" 

" It's better," said Martin. 

" Glad to hear it," said Ben. 

Martin, on entering the house, was informed of 
the ill-conduct of Eose, as Mrs. Waters chose to rep- 


resent it, and that in consequence slie had been shut 
up in the cellar. 

" Keep her there as long as you like," said Mar- 
tin. "She's a bad girl, and it won't do her any 

If Eose had known that an agent of her brother's 
was just outside the house, and was about to carry 
back to Eufus tidings of her whereabouts, she would 
have felt consideratly better. There is an old saying 
that the hour which is darkest is just before day. 




Rough and Ready had just laid in a supply of 
afternoon papers, and resumed Ms usual position in 
front of the " Times " office, when Ben Gibson came 
round the corner, just returned from his expedition to 
Brooklyn, the particulars of which are given in the 
last chapter. 

"What luck, Ben?" asked the newsboy, anx- 

" Tip-top," said Ben. 

"You don't mean to say you've found her?" said 
Rough and Ready, eagerly. 

"Yes, I have, — leastways I've found where she's 

" Tell me about it. How did you manage ? " 

" I followed your respected father down Spruce 
Street," said Ben. " He stopped to take a little 
something strong in Water Street, which made him 

■238 liOVGH AND ready; or, 

rather top-heavy. I offered him my protection, which 
he thankfully accepted ; so we went home together as 
intimate as brothers." 

" Did he suspect anything? " 

" Not a bit ; I told him I know'd you, and owed 
you a lickin', which impressed his affectionate heart 
very favorably. When'U you take it?" 


" The lickin'." 

" Not at present," said Rough and Eeady, laugh- 
ing. " I guess it'll keep." 

" All right. Any time you want it, just let me 

" Go ahead. Where does he live?" 

" In Brooklyn. We went over Fulton Ferry, and 
then took the horse-cars a couple of miles. I paid 
the old chap's fare." 

" I'll make it right with you. Did you see Rose? " 

" No ; but I'll remember the house." 

" Ben, you're a trump. I was afraid you wouldn't 
succeed. Now tell me when I had better go for her? 
Shall it be to-night?" 

" No," said Ben ; " he'll be at home to-night. Be- 


sides, she won't be allowed to come out. If we go 
over to-morrow, we may meet her walkin' out some- 
where. Then we can carry her off without any fuss." 

" I don't know but you're right," said the newsboy, 
thoughtfully ; " but it is hard to wait. I'm afraid she 
won't be treated well, poor little Rose ! " 

Rufus proposed to go over in the evening and re- 
connoitre, but it occurred to him that if he were seen 
and recognized by Mr. Martin, the latter would be on 
his guard, and perhaps remove her elsewhere, or keep 
her so strictly guarded that there would be no oppor- 
tunity of reclaiming her. He was forced, therefore, 
to wait with what patience he might till the next 
morning. He went round to tell Miss Manning of 
his success. She sympathized heartily with him, 
for she had felt an anxiety nearly as great as his 
own as to the fate of the little girl whose presence 
had lighted up her now lonely room with sunshine. 

After spending a portion of the evening with her, 
he came out again into the streets. It was his usual 
time for going to the Lodging House ; but he felt 
restless and wakeful, and preferred instead to wander 
about the streets. 


At ten o'cfock he felt the promptings of appetite, 
and, passing an oyster saloon, determined to go in 
and order a stew. 

It was not a very fashionable place. There was a 
general air of dinginess and lack of neatness pervad- 
ing the place. The apartment was small, and low- 
studded. On one side was a bar, on the other, two 
or three small compartments provided with tables, 
with curtains screening them from the main room. 

It was not a very inviting place, but the newsboy, 
though more particular than most of his class, re- 
flected that the oysters might nevertheless be good. 

" Give us a stew," he said to a young man behind 
the counter, whose countenance was ornamented with 

" All right. Any thing to drink ? " 

" No sir," said our hero. 

Rufus entered the only one of the alcoves which 

■ was unoccupied. The curtains of the other two were 

drawn. The one which he selected was the middle 

one of three, so that what was going on in both 

was audible to him. The one in front appeared to 


have a solitary occupant, and nothing was heard from 
it but the clatter of a knife and fork. 

But there were evidently two persons in the other, 
for Rufus was able to make out a low conversation 
which was going on between them. The first words 
were heard with difficulty, but afterwards, either be- 
cause they spoke louder or because his ear got more 
accustomed to the sounds, he made out ever^'thing. 

" You are sure about the money, Jim," said one. 


" How do you know it ? " 

" Never mind how I know it. It makes no odds 
as long as he's got it, and we are going to take it." 

" That's the main thing. Now tell me your 

" He'll be going home about half-past eleven, some- 
where from there to twelve, and we must lie in wait 
for him. It's a cool thousand, that'll be five hun- 
dred apiece." 

" I need it bad enough, for I'm' dead broke." 

"So am I. Got down to my last dollar, and no 

chance of another, unless this little plan of ours 



242 BOUGH AND heady; or., 

" It's dangerous." 

" Of course there's a risk. There won't be any 
time to lose. The policeman's got a long beat. We 
must make the attack when he's out of the way. 
There'll be no. time to parley." 

" If he resist — " 

"Knock him on the head. A minute'll be 

There was some further conversation carried on in 
a low voice, from which the newsboy, who listened 
with attention, gathered full particulars of the medi- 
tated attack. It appears that the intended victim of 
the plot was a "Wall Street broker, who was likely to 
be out late in the evening with a considerable sum 
of money about him. How the two desperadoes con- 
cerned in the plot had obtained this information did 
not appear. This, however, is not necessary to the 
comprehension of the story. Enough that they had 
intended to make criminal use of that knowledge. 

"What shall I do?" thought the newsboy, when 
by careful listening he arrived at a full comprehension 
of the plot in all its details. " There'll be robbery, 
and perhaps murder done unless I interfere." 


It required some courage to do anything. The men 
were not only his superiors in physical strength, but 
they were doubtless armed, and ready, if interfered 
with, to proceed to extremities. But the newsboy 
had one of those strong and hardy natures to which 
fear is a stranger, — at least so far as his own safety 
was concerned. This proceeded from his strength 
and physical vigor, and entire freedom from that ner- 
vousness which often accompanies a more fragile 

" I'll stop it if I can," he decided, promptly, with- 
out a thought of the risk he might incur. 

One circumstance might interfere: they might 
leave the saloon before he was ready to do so, and 
thus he would lose track of them. Unfortunatel}^, the 
place where the attack was to be made had not yet 
been mentioned. But he was relieved of this appre- 
hension when he heard the curtain drawn aside, and 
a fresh order given to the waiter. At that moment 
his own stew was brought, and placed on the table 
before him. 

" I shall get through as soon as they do," thought 


Rufu8. " There will be nothing to hinder my follow- 
*ing them." 

After finishing his own oysters, he waited until his 
neighbors, who were more deliberate, were ready to go 
out. When he heard their departure, he also drew the 
curtain, and stepped into the room. He took care not 
to look too closely at them, but one quick glance da- 
guerreotyped their features in his memory. One was 
a short, stout man, with a heavy face and lowering 
expression ; the other was taller and slighter, with a 
face less repulsive. The former, in rushing into 
crime, appeared to be following the instincts of a 
brutal nature. . The other looked as if he might have 
been capable of better things, had circumstances been 

The two exchanged a look when they saw the news- 
boy coming out of the compartment adjoining their 
own, as if to inquire whether he was likely to have 
heard any of their conversation. But Rufus assumed 
such an indifferent and unconcerned an expression, 
that their suspicions, if they had any, were dispelled, 
and they took no further notice of him. 

They settled for what they had eaten, and tho 


newsboy, hastily throwing down the exact ohange for 
his oysters, followed them out. - 

They turned up a side street, conversing still in a 
low tone. Eufus, though appearing indifferent, lis- 
tened intently. At length he heard what he had 
been anxious to hear, — the scene of the intended 

The information gave him this important advan- 
tage: He was no longer under the necessity of 
dogging the steps of the two men, which, if persisted 
in, would have been likely to attract their attention 
and arouse their suspicions. He was able now to leave 
them. All that would be necessary was to be on the 
spot at the time mentioned, or a lij:tle earlier. But 
what preparations should he make? For a boy to 
think of engaging single-handed with two ruffians was 
of course foolhardy. Yet it was desirable that he 
should have a weapon of some kind. Here, however, 
there was a difficulty, as there were no shops prob- 
ably open at that hour, where he could provide liim- 
self with what he desired. 

While considering with some perplexity what he 


should do, lie came across Tim Graves, a fellow 
newsboy, carrying in his hand a bat. 

" How are you, Tim? " he said. 

" I'm so's to be round. Where are you going?" 

" Up-town on an errand. Where'd you get that 

" I was up to the Park to see a base-ball match, 
and picked it up." 

« What'll you take for it?" 

"Want to buy?" 


"I don't know," said Tim, hesitating. "It's 
worth a quarter." 

" All right. Give it here." 

" What do you want it for?" 

" Somebody might attack me for my money," said 
Rufus. " If they do, I'll give 'em a rap with this." 

The money was paid over, and the bat changed 
owners. It was heavy, and of hard wood, and in the 
hands even of a boy might prove a formidable 




Armed with the bat, Rufus took his way up-town. 
As the distance was considerable, he jumped on 
board a horse-car. The conductor, noticing the bat, 
asked him whether he was going to play a game by 

" Yes," said the newsboy. " I belong to a club 
called 'The Owls.* We can play best in the 

He got out of the car at the point nearest to the 
place which he had heard mentioned as the probable 
scene of attack, and walked cautiously towards it. He 
had no doubt of being in full time, for it was not yet 
half-past eleven. But circumstances had hastened 
the attack ; so that, as he turned the corner of a quiet 
side street, he was startled by seeing a gentleman 
struggling desperately in the hands of two ruflSans. 


He saw at a glance that they were the same he had 
overheard in the oyster saloon. 

The gentleman appeared to be overpowered, for he 
was on the ground, with one man clutching his throat 
to prevent his giving the alarm, while the other was 
rifling his pockets. 

There was no time to lose. 

The newsboy darted forward, and before the 
villains were aware that their plans were menaced 
by defeat, he brought down the bat with force upon 
the back of the one who had his victim by the throat. 
The bat, wielded by the vigorous hand of Eough and 
Ready, fell with terrible emphasis upon the form of 
the bending ruffian. He released his hold with a 
sharp cry of pain, and fell back on the sidewalk. 
His companion looked up, but only in time to 
receive an equally forcible blow on his shoulder, 
which compelled him also to desist from his pur- 

At the same time the voice of the newsboy rang 
out clear and loud on the night air : " Help ! 
Police ! '* 

He sprang to the side of the prostrate gentleman, 


saying, " Get up at once, sir. "We'll defeat these 
villains yet." 

The gentleman sprang to his feet, and prepared to 
do his part in resisting an attack ; but none was 
apparently intended. The man, who had been 
struck in the back, was not in a position to do 
anything, but lay groaning with pam, while the 
other did not think it expedient to continue the 
attack under the changed aspect of affairs. Besides, 
the newsboy's cry for help was likely to bring the 
police, so that the only thing left was to effect an 
immediate escape. 

He paused but an instant before making his 
decision ; but that instant nearly destroyed his 
chance. The policeman, who had- heard the cry foi 
help, turned the corner hastily, and at once made 
chase. But by exerting all his strength the fellow 
managed to escape. The policeman returned, and 
began to inquire into the circumstances of the 

" How did this happen, Mr. Turner ? " he in 
quired of the gentleman, whom he recognized. 

" Those two villains attacked nae," said the gentle- 


man, "just as I turned the corner. They must have 
learned that I was likely to have a considerable sum 
of money about me, and were planning to secure it. 
Their attack was so sudden and unexpected that 
they would have accomplished their object but for 
this brave boy." 

" Curse him ! " said the prostrate burglar, who was 
the shorter of the two. " I saw him in the oyster 
saloon. He must have heard what I and my pal 
were saying, and followed us." 

" Did you know anything of this intended rob- 
bery ? " asked the policeman. 

"Yes," said Rough and Ready, "the man is right. 
I did overhear him and the other man planning it. 
We were in an oyster saloon in the lower part of the 
city. I was in one of the little rooms, and they in 
the other. They were talking it over in a low voice ; 
but I overheard the whole. As soon as I heard it, I 
determined to stop it if I could. I had no weapon- 
with me, but was lucky enough to buy this bat of a 
boy I met, and came up at once. I came near not 
being in time." 

" Let me see the bat," said the policeman. 


" It's a tough customer," he said, weighing it in 
his hand ; " you settled one of the parties, at any 

" Curse him ! " muttered the burglar once more. 

" Come, my man," said the policeman, " you must 
go with me. The city provides accommodations for 
such as you." 

" I can't get up,'* he groaned. 

"I guess you can if you try. Tou can't lie here, 
you know." 

After some delay the man rose sullenly, groaning 
meanwhile. ♦ 

" My back is broken," he said. 

" I hope not," said the newsboy, who was moved 
with pity for the burglar, bad as he was. 

" Don't pity him too much," said the policeman ; 
" he deserves what he's got." 

"I'll pay you off some time, boy, curse you ! " said 
the injured man, with a vindictive glance at Rufus. 
" I'll give you as good as you gave." 

" It'll be some time before you get a chance," said 
the policeman. "You'll get a five years la Sin^ 
Sing for this job." 


He marched off with the culprit, and Eough and 
Ready was left alone with Mr. Turner. 

" I don't know how to thank you, my brave boy, 
for your timely assistance," he said, grasping the 
hand of the newsboy. 

" I don't need any thanks, sir," said E,ufus. 

" You may not need any, but you deserve them 
richly. Are you far from home ? " 

" Yes, sir ; but I can take the horse-cars.'* 

" Where do you live ? " 

" At the Newsboys' Lodging House." 

"Are you a newsboy?" asked Mr. Turner, with 

« Yes, sir." 

" Have you parents living?" 

" No, sir, except a stepfather ; but he's a drunkard, 
and I don't live with him." 

" Have you any brothers or sisters?" 

" A little sister, about seven years old." 

" Does she live with your stepfather ? " 

"I took her away, but Mr. Martin found out 
where I had placed her, and he managed to get hold 
of her. I found out to-day where he carried her, and 


to-morrow I shall try to get her back. He isn't a fit 
man to have the charge of her." 

" And can you support your little sister, and your- 
self too?" 

" Yes, sir." 

" You are a good brother, and I believe you are a 
good boy. I want to know more of you. It is too 
late to go to the Newsboys' Lodging House to-night. 
I live close by, and will take you home with me." 

" Thank you, sir," said Rough and Ready, bash- 
fully, " but I don't want to trouble you so much." 

" There will be no trouble, and I owe something to 
a boy who has rendered me such a service. Besides, 
Mrs. Turner will want to see you." 

The newsboy knew not what further objections to 
make, and, indeed, Mr. Turner gave him no time to 
think of any, for, placing his arm in his, he drew him 
along. His home was in the next block. 

As Rufus ascended the steps, he saw that it was 
of fine appearance, and a new fit of bashfulness 
seized him. He wished himself in his accustomed 
bed at the Newsboys' Lodging House. There he 
would be under no constraint. Now he was about to 


enter a home where custorqs prevailed of which he 
knew nothing. But, whatever his feelings were, 
there was no chance to draw back. Besides, the al- 
ternative was between accepting Mr. Turner's invita- 
tion, and sleeping in the streets, for punctually at 
twelve o'clock the Lodging House closes, and it 
would be later than this before he could reach there. 

Mr. Turner drew out a night-key, and opened the 
front door. 

The hall was dimly lighted, for the gas was par- 
tially shut off. Still the newsboy could see that it 
was handsomely furnished. How it compai'ed with 
other houses up-town he could not tell, for this was 
the first he had entered. 

"The servants have gone to bed," said Mr. 
Turner ; "I never require them to sit up after 
eleven. I will myself show you the room where 
you are to sleep. Your hat you may leave 

According to directions, Rufus hung up his hat 
on the hat-stand. He congratulated himself, as he 
did so, that he had only bought it the week before, 
so that its appearance would do him no discredit 


Indeed his whole suit, though coarse, was whole, and 
not soiled, for he paid greater attention to dress 
than most boys in his line of business. This was 
due partly to a natural instinct of neatness, but 
partly also to the training he had received from his 
mother, who had been a neat woman. 

"Now come upstairs with me, Rufus," said Mr. 
Turner, who had made himself acquainted with our 
hero's name. " I will ask you to step softly, that we 
may wake no one." 

The thick carpet which covered the stairs ren- 
dered it easy to follow this direction. 

" One more flight," said Mr. Turner, at the first 

He paused before a door on the third floor, and 
opened it. 

Rufus followed him into a large and handsomely 
furnished bedchamber, containing a bed large 
enough for three, as the newsboy thought. 

" I think you will find everything you need," said 
the master of the house, casting a rapid glance 
around. "I hope you will have a comfortable 
night's rest. We have breakfast at half-past seven 


o'clock. The bell will ring to awake you half an 
hour earlier." 

" I think I won't stop to breakfast," said Rough 
and Eeady, bashfully ; " thank you, sir, for the invi- 

" You mustn't think of going away before' break- 
fast," said Mr. Turner ; " I wish to talk with you, and 
my wife will wish to see you." 

"But," said the newsboy, still anxious to get 
away, " I ought to be down-town early to get my 

" Let them go one morning. I will take care that 
you lose nothing by it. You will find a brush and 
comb on the bureau. And now, good-night. I am 
tired, and I have no doubt j'ou are also." 

" Good-night, sir." 

The. door closed, and the newsboy was left alone. 
It had come so rapidly upon him, that he could 
hardly realize the novel circumstances in which he 
was placed. He, who had been accustomed to the 
humble lodgings appropriated to his class, found him- 
self a welcome guest in a handsome mansion up-town. 
He undressed himself quickly, and, shutting off the 


gas, jumped into bed. He found it very soft and 
comfortable, and, being already fatigued, did not long 
remain awake, as he glided unconsciouslj'^ into slum- 
ber, wondering vaguely what Ben Gibson would say 

if he knew where he was spending the night. 




. RuFus slept so soundly, that his slumber was only 
ended by the sound of the warning bell, at seven in 
the morning. 

"Where am I?" he thought in bewilderment, as, 
opening his eyes, his first glance took in the appoint- 
ments of the bedchamber. 

Recollections quickly came to his aid, and, spring- 
ing out of bed, he began to dress. 

His feelings were rather mixed. He wished that 
he could glide softly downstairs, and out of the 
house, without stopping to breakfast. But this would 
not do, since Mr. Turner had expressly requested 
him to sta3^ But he dreaded meeting the rest of the 
family at the breakfast-table. He was afraid that he 
wouldn't know how to act in such unwonted circum- 
stances, for, though bold enough, and ready enough in 


the company of boys and out in the street, he felt 
bashful in his present position. 

He dressed himself slowly, and, finding a clothes- 
brush, brushed his clothes carefully. He arranged 
his hair neatly at the glass, which, though the news- 
boy was not vain enough to suspect it, reflected the 
face and figure of a very attractive and handsome 

When his preparations were all completed, he sat 
down in some perplexity. Should he go downstairs ? 
He decided not to do so, for he did not know his way 
to the room where the family ate breakfast. 

"I will wait till I hear the bell," he thought. 

He had to wait ten or fifteen minutes, feeling some- 
what nervous the while. 

At length the bell rang, and Rufus knew that it 
was time to go downstairs. He looked upon it as 
rather a trying ordeal, considering that he knew only 
the head of the family. Just as he was preparing to 
leave the room, the door was thrown open, and a boy 
of ten entered impetuously. 

"Breakfast's ready," he said r "Pa-pa sent me up to 
show you the way." 


" Thank you," said Eufus. 

' ' What's your name ? " 

" Eufus." 

" There's a boy in my class at school named Eu- 
fus, but he don't look much like you. Where's the 
bat you knocked the robber down with ? " 

" Here," said the newsboy, smiling. 

"I guess you gave him a crack, didn't you? I 
wouldn't like to get hit with it. Do you play base 

" Not much." 

"What do you want a bat for, then?" 

*' To knock robbers down," said Eufus, smiling. 

" I belong to a base-ball club at school. We call 
it the " Sea-Birds." We go up to the Park once a 
week and play." 

By this time they had reached the breakfast-room. 
Mr. Turner, who was already down, advanced to 
meet our hero, and took him by the hand. 

*' Did you sleep well, Eufus ? " he said. 

"Yes, sir. I only waked up when the bell 

" It was late when we retired. Louisa, my dear, 


this is the young lad who bravely came to my rescue 
when I was assaulted by two robbers." 

Mrs. Turner, who was a pleasant-looking lady, 
took his hand cordially. " I am very glad my hus- 
band brought you home," she said. "I shudder to 
think what would have happened, if you had 
not come up. I shouldn't have minded the money; 
but he might have been killed. I don't see 
how you could have had the courage to attack 

"I had a stout club," said Rufus ; "if it hadn't 
been for that, I couldn't have done any good." 

" Nor would the club have done any good, if it 
hadn't been in the hands of a brave boy," said 
Mr. Turner. "But the breakfast is getting cold. 
Let us sit down." 

Rufus took his seat in a chair indicated to him. 
He was glad to find that he was seated next to the 
boy, who had shown him the way downstairs, for 
with a boy he felt more at home than with an older 

"What is your name?" he asked. 

"Walter," was the reply. "I'm named after my 


Uncle Walter. He's travelling in Europe. Are you 
in a store?" 

" No." 

"Do you go to school?" 

" No, I sell papers. I'm a newsboy." 

"Do you make much money?" 

"About eight dollars a week." 

" That's a good deal. I only get fifty cents a 
week for spending money." 

" Which is twice as much as you ought to have," 
said his father. "I'm afraid you spend most of it 
for candy." 

" I didn't know newsboys made so much money," 
said Walter. 

"Rufus has a sister to support," said Mr. Tur- 
ner. "You wouldn't think eight dollars much, if 
you had to pay all your expenses out of it, and 
support a sister besides." 

" What is your sister's name ? " asked Mrs. Tur- 


'' A very pretty name. How old is she?" 

'* Seven years old." 


"That's just as old as my lister Carrie," said 
Walter; "here she comes. She's so lazy she al- 
ways gets up late in the morning." 

"No, I don't either," said the young lady re- 
ferred to; "I'm 'not so lazy as you are, Master 

"Well, then, why didn't you come down ear- 

"Because I had to have my hair braided," said 

"Didn't I have to brush my hair?" said Wal- 

" Your hair doesn't look as if you had spent 
much time on it," said his father. 

" Pa-pa," said Walter, as he helped himself to a' 
second piece of toast, "I wish you'd let me stop 
going to school, and sell papers." 

"Do you think that would be a good plan?'* 
asked his father, smiling. 

" Yes, I could earn money, you know." 

"Not much, I think. I suppose, if I agree to 
that arrangement, you will promise to pay all your 
expenses out of your earnings." 


"Yes, I guess P could," said "Walter, hesitating. 
"I can learn the business of Eufus." 

" I don't think you'd like it very well," said our 
hero, amused. 

"Don't you like it?" 

"I don't think I should like to sell papers all 

"What are you going to do when you are a 
* "I can't tell yet." 

"By the way, Rufus, I should be glad to have 

you call at my counting-room. No. Wall Street, 

this morning." 

" Thank you, sir," said Eufus ; " but I should pre- 
fer to call to-morrow. This morning, I am going 
over to Brooklyn to see if I can recover my sis* 

" To-morrow will answer just as well. Don't fail 
to come, however ; I wish to have a talk with you 
about your prospects." 

" I will not fail to come," answered the newsboy. 

Rufus did not find it so embarrassing as he antici- 
pated at the breakfast table. His young neighbor. 


Walter, plied him with questious, many of which 
amused him, and occasionally his sister Carrie, on 
the opposite side of the table, joined in. Mrs. Tur- 
ner asked him questions about his little sister, and 
sympathized with him when he described the plot by 
, which she had been taken from him. 

" Do you know Latin?" inquired Walter. 

" No," said Rufus. 

*' I don't see what's the use of studying it, for my 
part. I never expect to talk Latin." 

" I don't think you ever will," said his father ; 
" judging from j^our school report, your success has 
not been very brilliant in that stud}'-, so far." 

" I know one Latin sentence, anyway," said Wal- 
ter, complacently. 

"What is it?" 

" Sum stuUus.'* 

" I regret to hear it," said his father, in a tone of 

"Why?" asked Walter, surprised. 

" Do you. understand the meaning of the words you 
have just used? " 

" Yes, sir." 


"Well, what is it?" 

" They mean, ' I am good.' ". 

"Indeed, — I had au idea that their meaning was 
quite different. Suppose you look out stultus in 
your dictionary."' 

" I am sure I am right," said Walter, confidently. 
" I will prove it to you." 

He got his dictionar^^, and looked for the word. 
He looked a little abashed when he found it. 

" Well," said his father, " what does it mean? " 

" I am a fool," returned Walter. 

At this there was a laugh at Walter's expense. 
Breakfast was now over, and they rose fi-om the 

" I hope you will come and see us again," said 
Mrs. Turner. 

" Thank you," said our hero. 

" Come again, Rufus," said Walter ; " I'm making 
a boat, and perhaps you can help me. I'd show it to 
you, only I've got to get ready to go to school. I'm 
going to sail it in the bath-tub." 

" I shall expect to see you at my office, to-mor- 


row," said Mr. Turner, as Rufus took his leave. 
" Don't forget the number, — Wall Street." 

The door closed behind him, and Rufus descended 
the steps. On the whole, he was glad now that 
he had remained to breakfast. It had not proved so 
trying an ordeal as he anticipated, and he felt that 
he had acquitted himself pretty well under the cir- 
cumstances. It occurred to him that it would be 
very pleasant to live in the same way if he could af- 
ford it ; not that he cared so much for himself, but he 
would like it if Rose could have the same advantages, 
and live in as pleasant a home as Carrie Turner. 

This recalled to his jnind that Rose was still in the 
power of his stepfather, and if he wished to secure 
her it would be well to lose no time. He jump«?d' on 
a horse-car, and rode down-town. As he got out, 
Ben Gibson, who had just finished a job, caught sight 
of him. 

" Why wasn't you at the Lodge last night?" he 

" A gentleman invited me to stop at his house up 

" Oh, yes, of course," said Ben, incredulously. 


" It's true. But I want you to go over to Brook- 
lyn with me, and show me just where Mr. Martin 
lives. You shan't lose anything by it. I'll tell you 
about my adventure last night, as we are walking 

"All right," said Ben; " my health's getting deli- 
cate, and a trip to Brooklyn will be good for it." 

Ben shouldered his box, and the two boys bent 
their steps towards Fulton Ferry. 




We must now return to Rose, whom we left con 
fined in the cellar. Now, a cellar is not a very pleas- 
ant place, and Rose had a dismal time of it. She 
was considerably frightened also, when, as she sat 
on the lower step of the cellar stairs she saw a large 
rat running rapidlj^ past. It is not to be wondered at 
that Rose was alarmed. I know many persons much 
older who would have done precisely what she did 
under the circumstances, namely, scream with all 
their might. 

The little girl's scream brought Mrs. Waters to the 
door at the head of the stairs. 

"What are you howling at?" she demanded, 

" I just saw a big rat," said Rose. " Do let me 
come up ; I'm afraid he'll bite me." 

" Most likely he will," said Mrs. Waters. " But I 

270 HOUGH AND ready; OB, 

can't let you come up. You've acted too bad. Next 
time you'll find it best to behave. And, mind you, 
don't yell again ! If you do, I'll come down and give 
you something to yell for." 

Saying this, she slammed the door, and returned 
to her work, leaving Rose in a very unhappy state of 
mind. She sat in momentary expectation of the re- 
appearance of the rat, thinking it very likely it would 
bite her, as Mrs Waters had told her. She began to 
cry quietly, not daring to scream, lest Mrs. Waters 
should carry out her threat and give her a whipping. 

At the end of an hour — it seemed more like a day 
to Rose — Mrs. Waters came to the door, and said, 
" You can come up now, if you can make up youV 
mind to behave yourself." 

Rose needed no second invitation. She ran up- 
stairs hastily, under the impression that the rat might 
pursue her, and breathed a sigh of relief when she 
was fairly out of danger. 

Fanny was sitting at the table, eating a piece of . 

" Did the rats bite you?" she asked, laughing ma- 


*' No," answered Rose. 

" I wish they had. It would have been such fun to 
hear you holler." 

" You're a mean gu'l," said Rose, indignantly. 

"Hoity-toity! "What's all this?" demanded Mrs. 
Waters. " Have you begun to call Fanny names al- 
ready ? " * 

" She said she wished the rats had bitten me," said 

" Well, so do I. It would have been a good lesson 
to you. Now, miss, I've got one word to say. If 
you abuse and quarrel with Fanny, I'll just put you 
down cellar again, and this time I'll keep you there 
all night. Do you hear ? " 

" " Yes," said Rose, shuddering. She privately made 
up her mind that she should die if this threat were 
carried out, and the very thought of it made her turn 

"Don't you want some pie, Rose?" asked Fanny, 
with her mouth full. 

" Yes," said Rose, " I should like some." 

" Well, you can't have any," said Fanny, mali- 
ciously. "Can she, ma?" 


" Of course not. She don't deserve any," said the 
mother. " Pie is too good for wiclved girls. Here, 
you Rose, here's something for you to do, to keej" 
you out of mischief. Sit down to the table here, and 
shell these beans. Don't you want to help, Fanny?" 

" No, I don't," said Fanny, decidedly. " She can 
do 'em alone." 

A tin-pan half full of bean-pods was placed on the 
table, and Rose was ordered to be " sprj^," and not to 
waste "her time. Fanny, having finished her pie, 
began to tease the cat, which employment she found 
much more satisfactory than helping Rose. 

That night Mrs. Waters presented her bill to Mr. 
Martin for a week's board in advance for himself and 
Rose. The fact that he had apparently given up 
working made her a little doubtful whether he would 
prove good pay. She determined to ask payment in 
advance, and thus guard against all risk of loss. 

" Mr. Martin," she said, " here's my bill for youi 
board, and the little girl's. I'm rather short of 
money, and have got some bills to pay, and I should 
feel particularly obliged if 3^ou could pay me now." 

Mr. Martin took the bill, and looked at it. 


" It's seven dollars," said JMrs. Waters. " I can't 
afford to take any less. Beef's two cents a pound 
higher, and potatoes is rising every day. You can't 
say it's unreasonable." 

"It's all right, Mrs. "Waters," said Martin, slip- 
ping it into his vest-pocket. " It's all right. I'll at- 
tend to it in a day or two." 

"Can't you pay me to-day?" persisted the land- 
lady. " I've got my rent to pay to-morrow, and it'll 
take all I can get to pay it." 

"Can you change a fifty-dollar bill ? " asked Mar- 

" I can get it changed." 

" I guess I'll get it changed myself," said Martin. 
" I'm goin' out on business." 

" I don't believe he's got so much money," thought 

Mrs. "Waters, suspiciously, and it is needless to say 

that she was quite right in her suspicions. The exact 

amount of Mr. Martin's cash in hand was a dollar 

and thirty-seven cents, and his entire wardrobe and 

the sum of his earthly possessions would not probably 

have brought over fifteen dollars. 

Strong as Mrs. "VVaters suspicions were, however, 


she could not veiy well press the matter then. She 
resolved to wait till Mr. Martin returned, and then 
renew the subject. She would be guided in her 
action by what happened then. 

Martin, meanwhile, began to consider that possibly 
lie had made a mistake in kidnapping Rose. The 
necessary outlay for her board and clothes would be 
a Serious drain upon him, especially as for years he 
had barely earned enough to pay his own personal 
expenses. On the whole, he thought he might as well 
restore her to her brother ; but he would take care that 
the newsboy paid for the concession. He thought he 
might by good management get twenty dollars out 
of him, or, if he had not so much, part down, and the 
rest in a week or fortnight. He resolved to see Eough 
and Ready about it the very nest morning. 

There are some who say that money earned is en- 
joyed the most. James Martin did not believe this. 
Earning money was very disagreeable to him, and he 
considered any other mode of getting it preferable. 

He was louuging along the street, with his hands in 
his pockets, meditating as above, when a little girl 
came up to him, and, holding out her hand, whined 


out, " "Won't you give me a few pennies for my poor 
sick mother ? " 

Suddenly a brilliant idea came to Mr. Martin. He 
determined to question the little girl. 

" How long have you been out beggin'?" he asked. 

" Ever since morning." 

" How much money have you made ? '* 
.The little girl hesitated. 

" Come, little girl, if you'll tell me true, I'll give 
you five cents." 

" I'll show you," she answered, regaining confidence. 

She drew from her pocket a miscellaneous collection 
of pennies and silver pieces, which Martin counted, 
and found to amount to sixty-eight cents. 

"Do you make as much every day, little gal?" he 

" Sometimes more," she answered. 

"Pretty good business, isn't it? How long's your 
mother been sick ? " 

" Most a year," said the little girl, hesitating. 

"What's the matter with her?" 

" I don't know. She can't set up," said the girl, 
again hesitating, foi she was a professional mendi- 


cant, and the sick mother was a sham, being rep- 
resentedin reality by a lazy, able-bodied woman, who 
spent most of the charitable contributions collected 
by her daughter on drink. 

"Oh, yes, I understand," said Martin, with a wink. 
" Good-by, little gal. Give my love to your poor sick 
mother, and tell her I'd come round and inquire after 
her health if I had time." 

As he said this he turned to go away. 

" You promised me five cents," said the little girl, 
running after him. 

"Did I? Well, you'll have to wait till next time, 
unless you can change a fifty-dollar bill." 

" I aint got money enough." 

" Then you must wait till you see meagain." 

Mr. Martin's questions had not been without an 
object. The idea which had occurred to him was 
this. Why might he not make Kose, in like manner, 
a source of income ? Perhaps he might in that way 
more than pay expenses, and then he would still be 
able to keep her, and so continue to spite Rough and 
Ready, which would be very agreeable to his feelings. 

" I'll send her out to-morrow morning," he said to 


Mmself. " If she's smart, she can make a dollar a 
day, and that'll help along considerable. I'll be her 
poor sick mother. It'll save my workin' so hard, and 
injurin' my health in my old age." 

The more Mr. Martin thought of this plan, the bet- 
ter he liked it, and the more he wondered that he had 
never before thought of making Kose 9. source of in- 




"When Mr. Martin re-entered his boarding-house 
late in the afternoon, Mrs. Waters looked as if she 
expected her bill to be paid. 

" I couldn't change my fifty dollars,*' said Martin ; 
" but it's all right, Mrs. Waters. You shall have the 
money to-morrow." 

Notwithstanding the confidence with which he 
spoke, Mrs. Waters felt rather troubled in mind. 
She doubted very much whether it was all right, and 
would have felt very much relieved if she could have 
seen the bank-note which Martin talked about chang- 
ing. However, there was no good excuse for ques- 
tioning his statement, and she could only wait as pa- 
tiently as she might. But she resolved that if the 
money were not forthcoming the next day, she would 
advise Mr. Martin to seek another boarding-place, 
and that without delay. 


"When breakfast was over the next morning, Mar- 
tin said to Eose, " Put on your bonnet. I want you 
to go out with me." -^ 

Eose loolied at him in surprise. 

" I'm goin' to get her some new clothes, ma'am," 
he said to Mrs. "Waters. " She needs 'em, and it will- 
give me a good chance to change my bill." 

This might be so. Mrs. Waters hoped it was. 
Eose, however, listened with amazement. Her step- 
father had not bought her any clothes for years, — in- 
deed, she could not remember when, — and it was not 
long since he had taken away and sold those which 
her brother bought her. The idea struck her with 
alarm that perhaps he had the same intention now. 

" Come, don't be all day," said Martin, roughly. 
" Maybe I'll change my mind, and not buy you any 
if you're so long gettin' ready." 

It took little time for Eose to make necessary prep- 
arations. After leaving the house, Mr. Martin led 
the way to Third Avenue, where they got on board 
the horse-cars. It struck Mr. Martin that a good 
place for Eose to commence her new profession would 


be in front of Fulton Ferry, Avliere crowds of people 
were passing and repassing continually. 

Rose did not venture to ask any questions till they 
reached their destination. 

Then seeing the ferry, which she remembered, she 
asked hopefully, " Are we going to New York? " 

" No, we aint. Don't you think of such a thing," 
said Martin, roughly. 

" Are you going to buy me some clothes here? I 
don't see any stores." 

"You've got clothes enough. You've got better 
clothes than I have." 

"I thought," said Rose, "you told Mrs. "Waters 
you were going to buy me some." 

" Maybe I'll buy you some, if you do just as I tell 
you. I've got something for you to do." 

They had now left the cars, and were crossing the 
street to the ferry. 

" Now," said Martin, " I'll tell j'ou what you must 
do. You must stand just there where people come out, 
and hold out your hand, and say, ' Give me a few 
pennies for my poor sick mother.' " 


" But," said Rose, in dismay, " that will be beg- 

" S'pose it is," retorted her stepfather, doggedly. 
" Are you too proud to beg? Do you expect me to 
support you without you doin' anything ? " 

" I'm willing to work," said Rose, " but I don't 
want to beg." 

" None of your impudence ! " said Martin, angrily. 
"You must do just as I told you. Say, ' Give me a 
few pennies for my poor sick mother.' " 

These last words he brought out in a doleful 
whine, such as he thought might excite compassion. 

" There, see if you can say it as I did." 

" I haven't got any sick mother," pleaded Rose. 

" What's the odds ? Half of them aint. Only you 
must say so, or they won't give you anything. Come, 
are you ready ? " 

" I don't want to beg," said Rose, desperately. 

" I tell you what, little gal," said Martin, fiercely ; 
" if you don't do as I tell you, I'll give you the wust 
lickin' you ever had. Say what I told you." 

" Give me a few pennies for my poor sick mother," 
repeated Rose, unwillingly. 


" You don't say it feeliii' enough," said Martin, 
critically. "Anybody would think you didn't care 
nothin' for your poor sick mother. Say it so ; " and 
he repeated the whine. 

Eose said it after him, and though her performance 
was not quite satisfactory to her stepfather, he de- 
cided that it would do. 

" There, stand there," he said, " and begin. I'm 
goin' just across the street, and if you don't do it 
right, look out for a lickin'." 

Eose took her position, feeling very much ashamed, 
and almost ready to cry. She wished she could es- 
cape the necessity ; but looking across the street she 
saw Martin furtively shaking his fist at her, and 
turned desperately to follow his directions. 

The boat was just in, and a throng of passengers 
was passing through the gate. 

" Give me a few pennies for my poor sick moth- 
er," said Eose, to a good-natured-looking man who 
passed her. 

He looked at her anxious face, and something in it 
excited his pity. He took out ten cents, and gave it 


to lier. Rose took it, feeling very much ashamed, 
and turned to the next passer. 

" Give me a few pennies for my jjoor sick moth- 
er," she said. 

" Out of the way there, you young beggar ! " said 
he, roughly. " Such nuisances as you are ought to 
be sent to the Island." 

Eose drew back alarmed at this rough language, 
and for a moment kept silent, hardly daring to re- 
new her appeal. But a look at James Martin's 
threatening face compelled her to continue, and 
again she made the appeal. 

This time it was a lady she addressed, — mild and 
pleasant, — who paused a moment, and spoke gently. 

" Is your mother quite sick, my dear? " she asked, 
in a voice of compassion. 

"Yes, ma'am," answered Rose, faintly, ashamed of 
the falsehood she was uttering. 

" Have you any brothers and sisters?" 

" One brother," answered Rose, glad that here at 
least she could tell the truth. 

" Here's something for you," said the lady, placing 
twenty-five cents in the child's outstretched palm. 


All the passengers had now passed through the 
portal, and she had some respite. 

James Martin crossed the street, and, coming up to 
her, asked, '-' How much did you get?" 

Rose opened her hand. 

" Thirty-five cents in five minutes," he said, elated. 
" Come, little gal, you're gettin' on finely. I 
shouldn't wonder if you'd take three or four dollars 
by two o'clock. We'll go home then." 

" But 1 don't like to beg," said Rose. 

" Don't let me hear none of that," said Martin, 
angrily. " You're lazy, that's what's the matter. 
You've got to earn your livin', there's no two ways 
about that, and this is the easiest way to do it. 
There aint no work about beggin'." 

Since Martin was mean enough to live on the 
money begged by a little girl, it isn't likely that he 
would understand the delicate scrupulousness which 
made Rose ashamed of soliciting charity. 

" I'll take the money," said her stepfather, " and 
you can get some more when the next boat comes in. 
I'm goin' away a few minutes," he proceeded ; "but 
you must stay here just where you are, and keep on 


just as if I was here. I won't be gone long. If I 
find you haven't done nothing when I come back, 
look out for yourself." 

James Martin had reflected that the thirty-five 
cents would be sufiicient to get him a drink and a 
couple of cigars, and it was to obtain these that he 
went away. He found it rather dull work, standing 
on the sidewalk and watching Rose, and he thought 
that by inspiring her with a little wholesome fear, 
she would go on just as well in his absence. Still it 
might be as well to encourage her a little. 

" If you're a good gal," he proceeded, in a changed 
tone, " and get a lot of money, I'll buy you some 
candy when we go home." 

This, however, did not cheer Rose much. She 
would much prefer to go without the cand}^, if she 
might be relieved from her present disagreeable em- 

If Mr. Martin had been aware that among the pas- 
sengers on the next boat were Rough and Ready 
and Ben Gibson, he would scarcely have felt so safe 
in leaving Rose behind. Such, however, was the 
case. While Rose was plunged in sorrowful thought, 

286 ROUGH AND ready; or, 

filled with shame at the thought of her emplo^'^ment, 
deliverance was near at hand. 

The boat came in, and she felt compelled to re- 
sume her appeal. 

" Give me a few pennies for my poor sick mother," 
she said, holding out her hand. 

""Where is your poor sick mother?" asked the 
person addressed. 

" She's dead," said Rose, forgetting herself. 

" That's what I thought," he answ;ered, laughing, 
and passed on, of course without giving anything. 

Rather mortified at the mistake she had made. 
Rose turned to address the next passenger, when she 
uttered a joyful cry. 

" Rufie ! " she exclaimed, throwing her arms 
around him. 

"Rose, is it you?" he exclaimed, surprised and 
delighted. "I-Iow came you here? I came over to 
Brooklyn on purpose to find you ; but I had no idea 
you were so near." 

" Mr. Martin sent me here to beg." 

"To beg!" repeated Rufus, indignantly. "And 
where is he now ? '.' 


" He's gone away," said Eose, " but he's coming 
riglit back." 

" Then he won't find 3- ou, that's all. Come, Ben, 
we'll go right back by the next boat, and carry Rose 
with us. I didn't expect to be so lucky." 

"Won't Martin be mad?" said Ben. "I'd like 
to see him when he finds your sister gone." 

" He shan't see her again very soon," said Rufus, 
" not if I can help it. Come along, Rose." 

He paid their fare by the boat, and hurried Rose 
on board. It started in the course of two or three 
minutes on its return trip. On the way he made 
Eose tell him how she had been treated, and was 
very angry when told of the persecutions to which 
she had been subjected. 

" But it's all over now. Rosy," he said, putting his 
arm caressingly round his little sister's neck, "3'ou're 
safe now, and nobody shall trouble you. Miss Man- 
ning will be rejoiced to see you again." 

" I shall be so glad to get home again, Rufie," said 
Rose, earnestly ; " Miss Manning's so much nicer than 
Mrs. Waters." 


"And am I as nice as Mr. Martin?" asked Rufus, 

" Ten thousand niillion times," said Rose, emphati- 
cally. " He isn't nice at all." 

Meanwhile we return to Mr. Martin. 

When he got back, he looked in vain for Rose. 

" Where's she gone ? " he asked himself, angrily. 

He looked about him on all sides, but no Rose was 
to be seen. It occurred to him that j)erhaps she 
might have taken some of, the money obtained by 
begging, and gone over to New York in the boat, in 
the hope of finding her brother. If so, he would fol- 
low her. 

To make sure, he asked the fare-taker. 

" Did you see a little girl begging just outside the 
gate a few minutes ago ? " 

" Yes." 

" She's gone away. Did you see where she 

" She went over to New York in the boat, about 
twenty minutes ago." 

" Did she go alone ? " 

" No ; there were two boys went with her." 


Martin asked for a description of tlie boys, and re- 
alized to liis intense disappointment tliat tiis plans 
were foiled, and that Eough and Ready had recovered 
his sister. He was provoked with himself for leaving 
her, and his vexation was the greater that he had not 
only lost Rose and the money she might have made 
for him, but also the sum which the newsboy stood 
ready to pay for the return of his sister. 

" Confound the luck ! " he muttered. " It's always 
against me." 


290 HOUGH AND ready; ob^ 



" Now," said Eufus, " we'll surprise Miss Man- 
ning. She won't be expecting you." 

"Do you think Mr. Martin will come after me, 
Rufie?" asked Rose, anxiously. 

" If he does he won't get you." 

" I shan't dare to go out in the street." 

" You had better not go out alone. I'll tell Miss 
Manning about it. I think it will be best to move to 
some other street, as long as Mr. Martin knows the 
old place." 

"Maybe he'd like to adopt me instead of Rose," 
suggested Ben, humorously. " I'd make an inter- 
estin'-lookin' girl if I could only borrer a dress that 
would fit me." ' 

" You'd have to give up smoking, Ben. Girls don't 

" I'm afraid that wouldn't agree with me," said Ben. 


" I guess Mrs. Waters would find you a tough cus- 
tomer, if she undertook to shut you up in the cel- 

" Yes," said Ben, " she'd find me as tough as a 
ten-3^ear-old turke3\" 

At Printing House Square, Ben left the party, and 
resumed his professional occupation. As he will 
not again be mentioned in this story, I will mention 
thart an account of his subsequent career may be found 
in " Mark, the Match Boy," the third volume of this 

Miss Manning was sitting in her humble room 
sewing diligently. She was thinking sadly how 
cheerless and lonely it was since Rose had disap- 
peared. She was not ver}^ sanguine about recovering 
her, since it was much easier to hide a little girl than 
to find her among such a wilderness of houses as the 
great city contains. But, as she sat at her work, a 
sound of footsteps was heard upon the stairs,. and di- 
rectly'- afterwards the door flew open, and little Eose, 
rushing forward, threw her arms around her neck. 

"Have you come back again, Eose?" exclaimed 
the seamstress, joj-fully. 

292 HOUGH AND nyiADT; or, 

" Yes, Miss Manning, I'm so glad to see you 
again ; " and Rose kissed her again and again. 

" How did you find her, Rufus?" asked Miss Man- 
ning, returning the embrace. 

The newsboy related the story briefly. 

Then Rose was called upon to give an account of 
all that had happened to her. 

" What a wicked woman Mrs. "Waters must be ! " 
said the mild seamstress, with a disj)lay of indigna- 
tion unusual for her. " She ought to be ashamed of 
herself to shut you up in a dark cellar." 

" I was so afraid of the rats," said Rose, shudder- 
ing. " I was afraid they would eat me up." 

"You'd make a pretty large mouthful for a com- 
mon-sized rat," said Rufus, smiling. 

" They might have bitten me, though," said Rose. 

" Well, they shan't trouble you any more, little sis- 
ter," said Rufus. " Mr. Martin will be a smart man 
if he gets hold of you again." 

" He might carry you off, Rufie," said Rose, in mo- 
mentary alarm. 

" I'd like to see him do it," said Rough and Ready, 


drawing up his youthful form. " He'd wish he 
hadn't, that's all," he added, with a laugh. 

"I think. Miss Manning," he proceeded, " we'd 
better move, so as to put Martin off the track. As 
long as Eose lives here, he'll be prowling round, and 
some time he might get hold of her again." 

" I am perfectly willing," said the seamstress. 
" My week's up to-morrow, and I can move at once. 
Suppose we go out and find a place this afternoon." 

*' All right," said Eufus. " But I've got to leave 
you now. I've a business engagement down in Wall 

" Among the bulls and bears," said Miss Manning, 

"Are there bulls and bears in Wall Street?" said 
Eose, alarmed. " Oh, don't go down there, Eufie. 
You'll get killed." 

" They won't hurt me, Eose. I haven't got money 
enough," said the newsboy, smiling. " Don't be 
afraid. I'll come back early in the afternoon." 

The newsboy took the nearest route to Wall Street. 
It is a short street ; but an immense volume of busi- 
ness is transacted there every day. It is lined with 


banks and business offices, especially those of 
brokers, lawyers, insurance companies, and moneyed 
institutions. There were plenty of bulls and bears 
upon the street ; but they looked very much alike, 
and Eufus could not tell them apart. 

As these terms may seem mysterious to some of 
my .young readers, it may be as well to say that 
" bulls " are those who are striving to carry up the 
price of stocks, and " bears " are those who are mak- 
ing an effort to depress them. 

Our hero was not long in finding the office of Mr. 
Turner. • 

He had to go up a short flight of steps, at the head 
of which ar door opened into a hall or entry-way. On 
one side of this was the office of Mr. Turner. Open- 
ing the office-door, he found himself in a large room 
fitted up with a counter, behind which were two or 
three young men, who were, no doubt, clerks. 

" Is Mr. Turner in?" asked the newsboy, going up 
to the counter. 

" Not just now ; he's at the Board," — meaning the 
Stock Board, where stocks are bought and sold. 
" Can I do your business? " 


"No ; Mr. Turner nsked me to call." 

" You can wait for him, if you like." 

Rough and Eeady sat down in an arm-chair, and 
took up the morning paper. He had been thus en- 
gaged about twenty minutes, when he heard the door 
open, and, looking up, saw Mr. Turner. 

" Good-morning, Mi'. Turner," said our hero, lay- 
ing aside the paper, and rising. 

" Oh, good-morning, Eufus. I am glad to see you. 
Wait a few minutes, and I will be at leisure." 

He went behind the counter, and gave a few quick 
business directions to his clerks, 

" James, go to the Park Bank, and get these shares 
transferred to John Wade," he said to the youngest 
clerk, who thereupon seized his hat and left the 

It was not long before Mr. Turner was disengaged. 
Coming out from behind the counter, he drew up an 
arm-chair, and sat down opposite Rufus. 

" So you are a newsboy?" he said. 

"Yes, sir." 

" But you don't want to be a newsboy always?" 

"No, sir," said Rufus, promptly. "Only there 


isn't much chance for me to get anything better to 

" How much do you earn by selling papers?" 

" About eight dollars a week." 

" And out of that you support your sister and 

"Yes, sir." 

" I suppose you have not been able to lay up any 

" Yes, sir." 

"How much?" 

" Three hundred dollars." 

" Three hundred dollars ! " repeated Mr. Turner, 
in surprise. " Surely you could not save up so much 
as that?" 

" No, sir, I found it." 

" Tell me about it." 

Our hero told of his adventure in the bar-room. 

" So you have not spent any of this money ? " 

" No, sir ; I put it in the savings-bank." 

" That is well," said the broker, approvingly. " It 
shows that you have more good sense than most 
boys of your class. Now I have a proposition to 


make to you. How should you like to enter this 

" I should like it very much, sir." 

"Better than being a newsboy?" 

" Yes, sir ; there aint any chance to rise in the 
paper business." 

" And here, if you do your duty, there will be a 
chance to rise." 

" Yes, sir, that's what I mean." 

" Very well, I will tell you what I will do. You 
did me a signal service last night. You saved me 
from losing a large sum of money, and, what is worse, 
from serious personal injury. I want to do some- 
thing for you in return. I think yon are a smart 
boy, and, what is better, an honest and trustworthy 
boy. It so happens that my youngest clerk is in 
poor health, and is about to leave my employment. 
I will give you his place." 

" Thank you, sir," said Rufus. 

" As to salary I shall for the present give }'0U llie 
same you have been earning by selling papers, — that 
is, eight dollars a week. It is nearly double what J 
have been accustomed to pay, but that is of no con- 

298 ROUGH AND meaby; or, 

sequence. Besides this, I will give 3^011 two hundred 
dollars to add to j^our fund in the savings-bank, in- 
creasing it to five hundred." 

" You .are very, very kind," said Rufus. 

" I owe you some kindness," said Mr. Turner. 
" There are other w'aj's in which I shall find an oppor- 
tunity to serve j'ou. But of that we will speak here- 
after. "When do 3'ou want to come ? " 

" Whenever you think best, sir." 

"Then let it be next Monday morning, at nine 
o'clock. James wall remain a week or two, till you 
get a little familiar with j^our duties. And now, my 
young friend, this is all the time I can spare you this 
morning. Good-by till Monday." 

Mr. Turner shoolj; hands with Rufus, and the latter 
left the office with the strange feeling which we always 
have when a great change is going to take place in 
our course of life. He was about to bid farewell to 
the life of a newsboy, and enter upon a business 
career in Wall Street. He could not help feeling a 
thrill of new importance as he thought of this, and 
his ambition was roused. Wh}'' should he not rise 
to a position of importance like the men whom he had 


heard of and seen, whose beginnings had been as hum- 
ble as his own? He determined to try, at all events. 

He returned to Miss Manning to acquaint her and 
Rose with his good fortune. The seamstress seemed 
quite impressed with the news. 

"Who knows what maj^ come of it, Eufus?" she 
said. " Some day j^ou may be a rich man, — perhaps 
president of a bank." 

"Which shall I be, Eose, a bull or a bear?" in- 
quired Rufus, playfully. 

" You can't be a bull," said Rose, positively, "for 
you haven't got any horns." 

" Then I suppose I must be a bear," said the news- 
boy, laughing. 

So Rufus ceased to be a newsboy, and here appro- 
priately closes the story of " Rough and Ready ; or. 
Life among the New York Newsboys." But a new 
career dawns npon our hero, brighter than the past, 
but not without its trials and difficulties. Those who 
are interested to hear of his new life, and are curious 
to learn what became of Mr. Martin, will find the ac- 
count given in a subsequent volume, for next Christ- 


mas, to be called " Rtifus and Rose ; or, The Ad- 
ventures of Rough and Ready." Before writing this, 
however, I propose to publish, as the next volume of 
this series, the experiences of one of the newsboy's 
friends, under the title of 

, Ben, the Luggage Boy; 

Among the "Wharves.